The Wayward Shadow
by PurposefulChaos
Summary: Keira is a lone warrior. She's spent years living out a solitary life in the Brown Lands, having abandoned the kingdom she once called home after the death of her father. One fateful day, Keira wakes to find herself in the middle of a forest with no clue as to how she got there. Unbeknownst to her, this strange twist of fate could alter her destiny in ways she cannot imagine.
1. Awoken

"Oi, you! Paws off! I found 'er first!"

"Shudup you slimy maggot! I ain't had no food for three days! I'm deserving of a bite of man flesh every now and then."

"Well I haven't a decent meal in four, but you know who's gonna be cross if we eat 'er without telling no one! One mouthful of spindly meat ain't worth dying for, I don't reckon."

"Eh, you're right, much as I hate to say it. Might as well continue on, I suppose. Glom'll find 'er soon enough."

My head is spinning wildly as I begin to come to. I hear heavy footfalls slowly fade into the distance, presumably of the creatures I had heard talking earlier. The tongue in which they spoke was a strange and garbled form of Black Speech. Their words were barely intelligible in my own ears, despite my extensive knowledge of languages. All I know is that they fill my waking self with dread. Every muscle in my body feels as if it has been dipped into the fires of Mount Doom itself, and my lungs ache in protest as I draw in a deep breath. Even my eyelids feel as if they are lined with thorns, and thus it is an immense relief when I manage to open them.

Snow. That's the first thing I see. The white flakes fall daintily onto my cheeks and lashes, and I blink them away in shock. Since when did it snow on the Brown Plains?

Mustering up my strength, I use my arms to help push myself up into a sitting position. As soon as I put weight on my right arm, however, a sharp pain in my bicep moves me to let out a small gasp. I look down at my arm and immediately feel a wave of nausea sweep over me when I take in the gruesome sight.

A thick stream of blood is trickling lazily down my arm and onto my wrist. At its source lies a deep slash that cuts a jagged pattern into my muscle. The wound is sticky with darkened blood that has stained the surrounding skin a deep shade of cherry. The reddened fabric that was once called my sleeve now hangs limply from my arm. I shudder slightly, not wanting to know how the injury came to be. Driven by a spasm of panic, I stumble wearily to my feet and look myself over. The rest of my clothing appears mostly intact, but as I stretch out my legs I notice that my tan boots are splattered with a strange black substance. Frowning, I bend down to get a closer look. It only takes a moment for me to inspect the thick liquid before I realize it to be tar.

"How strange," I mutter under my breath.

Where in the world am I?

My memories blur together in a dense cloud of fog; there was a battle, a nasty one at that. There were Orcs and, judging by my wound, it is my guess that one of them cut my arm with a blade or knife. I cannot delve any deeper than that without the risk of making myself faint. Shaking my head, I decide to peer around at my surroundings.

The steady fall of snow obscures a small portion of my vision, but I can still make out that I am surrounded by a dense group of leafless trees that seem to stretch out for miles in either direction. Birds chirp happily in the naked branches above me, singing songs of the growth and new life that are to come with the spring. They are either oblivious to my existence or seem not to care that I am here.

Their soft melodies ring sweetly in my ears, and I can't help but smile as I look up at the towering treetops, awestruck. Never before have I seen such natural beauty up close. The barren plains in which I live are nothing such as this. They harbor no more than dust and decay. I take several tentative steps forward and brush my fingers against one of the frozen trunks. The bark feels cold and rough beneath my fingertips, and the shock of it sends chills racing down my spine. I suddenly feel like a little girl again, remembering the time when my Father showed me the woods of Lothlorien. It was during a winter such as this, and I recall him lifting me onto his shoulders so that I could catch a glimpse of the massive forest to the west of us.

_The Elves live there, don't they father? _I had asked him. _Wouldn't we be able to say hello to them? I have always wanted to meet an Elf. They seem so wonderful._

_The Elves of Lothlorien are not as welcoming to Men as they once were, my dear, _he had told me in a solemn tone. _It is a shame, really, how trust can be lost so easily. The Elves are indeed a wonderful folk: perhaps we shall one day rekindle the friendship that was once shared between our races. _My father sighed as I clutched onto his shoulders, craning my head out towards the magnificent wood.

_I look forward to when we can! _I had replied happily, my young mind open to the idea of befriending Lothlorien Elves, or any other Elves for that matter. I had always admired them greatly.

The memory from many years past is so vivid that I have to shake my head to be rid of it. My father taught me to never dwell in the past. I turn my attention to the tree before me and consider climbing it. Perhaps I might be able to get an idea of where I am from a higher vantage point. I think over it for a moment and am about to grip onto the branch closest to me when I hear the howl_._

It is a terrible, jarring thing that sends waves of fear coursing through my veins. My eyes widen, and I whirl around and press my back against the trunk. Clutching my injured shoulder, I barely contain a scream of terror as an enormous Warg bounds out from behind a large pine. Its brown fur is covered in drifts of snow, which it shakes off in agitation. That's when I notice that atop the beast sits a hideous creature with a wrinkled grey face and a sword in hand. Only one word comes to my mind that could possibly identify the monster. Orc. This one is much bigger than any of the others I have faced.

Stop it, stop frightening yourself! You have to get out of this... alive. Think!

"Ah, so the human has awoken," garbles the Orc in common tongue. The enormous Warg growls menacingly. "It would've been better if you would've never woken at all, filth. For you, that is. Us Orcs love fresh meat."

"I see," I say. "Well, I hope you don't mind me asking, but where am I?"

The Orc's grizzled brow furrows, and the Warg snarls and stretches out its claws. Saliva drips from its slavering jowls, and I grimace as I imagine its fangs sinking into my flesh.

"Why, is the human lost?" the Orc asks.

"I'm afraid so," I reply, desperately trying to hide the waver in my voice. "And if I am going to be eaten, then I would like to die while having at least a remote idea of where I am. Please, do tell. Where, in fact, am I?"

"You are in Middle-Earth, of course!"

Orcs. Their brain seems to decrease the larger they get.

"Pray, do be specific." I spread out my arms. "This is, after all, a rather large country!"

A terrible sneer comes upon the orc's face as he draws a rather evil looking black sword from his belt. As if one sword wasn't enough to kill me. I am badly wounded and, much to my dismay, unarmed.

"You are near the borders of Mirkwood, if you must know." The Warg kneads the frozen ground eagerly as its master clicks its teeth together. The Orc's black eyes glint with malice as it continues. "And have just been unlucky enough to be found by several of my scouts." He leaps off of the Warg and begins to advance towards me, swords in both hands.

"Am I, now?" I ask nervously, slowly inching my way around the tree as the monster advances. "Well I wouldn't necessarily consider myself unlucky if this is the case. You see, there is a very lovely people that live near here who would not hesitate to skewer you right through your filthy black heart. Do you know who I speak of, monster?"

"Do not speak of the treacherous elves to me, human scum!" The creature roars and lunges. I just manage to duck as the sword nearly separates my head from my shoulders.

"Who said I was talking about elves?" I say, dodging a vicious swipe to my stomach. "I could have been talking about mountain trolls! You do seem to have a rather large number of enemies, from what I've heard." Another swipe, this time closer, and the tip of the sword nicks my right eyebrow. I recoil in shock as blood dribbles down into my eye, blinding me momentarily. I try desperately to blink the red substance away, and my vision clears just enough for me to see the butt of the sword swinging down towards my head. It hits me hard in the temple, knocking me to the ground. My back slams hard against the trunk of a frozen tree, and I gasp with pain. Dizzy and wounded, I watch as the Orc casts aside its first sword and clutches the black blade with both hands. The fight must have gone easier than it expected. It raises the weapon above its head, preparing to decapitate me. I frantically claw at the earth around me, desperately searching for any means to fend off the blow. Then, just as the Orc brings the blade screaming down towards my face, my fingers brush against something hard and cold. I grasp the object and thrust it wildly towards the descending blade.

A shower of sparks rains down on me as the weapon collides with the stone in my hand. The sword glances off of it and embeds itself deeply into the tree trunk beside me. The Orc let out a howl of annoyance as it tugs against the hilt, attempting to rip the weapon from the thick wood. As it struggles to free the blade, I spy a small throwing dagger tucked into his belt. Seeing my chance, I quickly snatch up the blade. The Orc seems not to notice as he finally yanks the sword free and glowers down upon me.

"You thought you could beat me," it sneers mockingly. "You thought you could win."

I will myself to ignore its taunts, but something in its tone surfaces an emotion within me that I have not felt in a long, long time.

Rage; pure, blind rage.

My tired expression begins to contort into something much more menacing, and I feel strength return to my muscles. As the Orc brings down its sword once more, I raise up my hand and throw the knife. The weapon hurdles through the air before finding its mark, sinking deep into the exposed flesh of the Orc's throat. The grey creature lets out a surprised gurgling sound as it looks down at the blade protruding from its neck. A semi-hysterical smile creeps across my features as the foul beast stumbles back several steps. It then collapses to its knees before falling face-first into the snow. Dead. However, the fight is not over yet.

The Warg, having patiently watched the fight unfold, steps forward and bends down to sniff its fallen master. It wrinkles its enormous nose in distaste before turning to look at me, fangs bared. It begins to advance, and I give a light laugh. Just my luck. Not only did I have to kill the Orc, but now it's Warg also. However, despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the battle with the Orc has done nothing but weaken me further. I have no way to stop myself as I roll over onto my side, wheezing painfully in the frosty air.

_No no NO! Get up!_ a voice from somewhere in my being cries out. _You have to!_

But my muscles have done all they can. As I lay on the ground, I hear the heavy tread of the wolf as it advances towards me, and when I look up I find its face looking down upon me. Its dark eyes shine bright with anger, but I feel no fear as I gaze up into them. I have much experience with eyes such as these. Time takes certain fears out of the equation.

I cringe as black saliva drips down from its jowls and onto my cheek. Hot breath pants against my face. _So this is the end, _I think to myself. _This is how I will die._ I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for the worst.

Suddenly, the sharp blast of a horn cuts through the frozen air. It is a clear and beautiful sound, unlike the ugly screeching of those made by Orcs and Goblins. My eyes fly open, and the Warg tenses and growls. It knows just as well as I that that is not an Orc horn. The giant animal lets out an angry yowl and steps back off of me, hackles raised. When it glances down at me again, and I note that its eyes are filled with something other than anger. Fear.

I lean up into a sitting position, using my good arm to steady myself as the world seems to careen out of control. A large lump from where the Orc hit me with the sword throbs on my temple, and the wound has made me horribly dizzy. It takes all the strength I have not to collapse once more. But, somehow, even in my injured state, the horn blast had given me hope that all is not yet lost. That maybe, just maybe, I can get out of this alive. I have been thrust into hazardous situations before-granted, none of them remotely similar to this one-and survived. How is this any different?

Gathering up enough courage I can muster, I speak.

"Warg of the Dark Lands," I say in a rough form of Black Speech, similar to the strain spoken by the Orcs. "Beast born of the Fires of Mordor. You have been raised a slave of the evil which inhabits your land." The wolf recoils with a snarl as if my words have physically struck it.

"I can help you," I continue. "We can help each other. I have freed you from your service of the Orc. Can you not return the favor by letting me live? Go now, spare the one who as saved you, and live a free life." Its lips slowly slide back down over its massive fangs. It cocks its head and takes a step forward.

"I speak no lie. Go, now, while you still can."

The creature continues to slink towards me, but it appears curious more than anything. It's not every day that its prey can speak to it. I extend my arm out and point towards the forest.

"Go," I command. My palms grow damp in my nervousness, and I wince as sweat stings the sword wound. The wolf refuses to listen, and terror courses through my veins when I hear the low growl emanating from deep within its throat. The beast is so close to me that I now notice the thin white scars that decorate the bridge of its nose. Then, suddenly, the Warg lunges.

I yank my arm back just in the nick of time, for if I had hesitated at all, its powerful jaws would have severed off my hand at the wrist. Its teeth clank together painfully as its jaws close on nothing but air, and the Warg bristles in agitation. I stumble over to the side, half-crawling, half-walking around the width of the tree; anything to get away from the creature. Fear and adrenaline are the only things motivating my limbs to function, along with the blind hope that I might be able to escape the beast if I move fast enough.

The Warg seems to have other ideas.

Its hackles are raised to their full height as it continues to advance towards me, its massive paws crunching over the frozen ground.

Despite the raging adrenaline coursing through me, I am only able to retreat a foot or so away before my back collides with something else. I glance over my shoulder to find a massive tree trunk, far bigger than the one before, blocking my path. Dread sweeps over me when I realize that, in my current state, I might not be able to get around it. I am as good as dead, I realize with a sigh. I slump against the tree and accept my defeat as the Warg continues to creep towards me. Its tongue passes over its lips; the scent of blood must smell irresistible to it. I feel sick when I imagine what will be left of me when the creature has had its fill.

It is in that moment when I am pondering my own demise when my gaze flickers to something long and dark lying several feet next to me. I turn my head towards the shape and narrow my eyes, willing my vision to swim back into focus. When it finally clears, I realize with a start that the object is one of the Orc blades. I vaguely remember the beast casting it aside as it prepared to kill me with the very blade that now sticks out from its dead body like an enormous thorn.

Heavy blood loss has made me dizzy and light-headed, but even in my convoluted state I am able to realize that the sword might be the only chance I have of survival. I blink several times before stretching my arm out towards the sword. My fingers barely brush the black hilt.

_Just… a little… farther…_

Another horn blast, this one closer and louder, but I don't think anything of it. The Warg, however, seems to know something I don't. It glances nervously out into the forest before whipping its head back round to face me. Its muscles tense and then, eyes glittering savagely, the beast lunges for my throat. Its jaws are inches from severing my head when I hear something whiz through the air, followed closely by a dull thud as it impacts the Warg.

The massive creature lets out a terrible scream as it falls backwards off of me. My eyes widen with shock when I see the long feathered arrow protruding from the beast's side. It writhes in pain and as just about to charge me again when another arrow slams into its neck. The Warg freezes in place for what seems like the longest time before collapsing onto the ground. A gurgling noise rises up from the beast's throat as a wave of blood spills out from the between gaps in its fangs. It stains the ground beneath it an unpleasant shade of crimson. A racking spasm shakes the Warg's body once, twice, and then thrice before, alas, the dying beast goes still.

The stunned silence that ensues is long and dragging. The birds that I once heard singing happily in the trees above have gone quiet. The only sound that remains is that of my heartbeat drumming in my ears. I look around, searching for any signs of life. The arrows had to some from somewhere! Then I hear it. A low, rustling sound, like the quick footfalls of some sort of animal. I frown slightly and reach out to grab the sword.

"Do not move."

The deep voice startles me, and I jump, cringing as my wounded shoulder protests against the sharp moment. I whip my head to the side and let out a small shriek.

Six figures clad in forest green attire stand several feet away from me, longbows in hand. Each has an arrow knocked and pointing at me. I cannot make out their faces, for they are shadowed by the hoods that hang down over their foreheads.

"Who are you?" asks the one closest to me. A puff of hot air emanating from inside the hood gives away the speaker.

"You have my thanks," I state quickly, his question having fallen on deaf ears. "I presume that it was you who killed the Warg?"

"It was, but I asked for your name, not for your formalities." A distinct accent is threaded into his words, though is not of any like I have heard before.

"Forgive me," I say, clearing my throat awkwardly. "I am Keira, daughter of Byron. I hail from..." I trail off before I say 'nowhere'. The steel arrow tips gleam dangerously in the light of the winter sun, and I blink nervously. "From where I hail is not important. Let me assure you that I mean you all no harm, whoever you may be."

The person closest to me hesitates a moment before lowering his bow. The others quickly follow suit but keep the weapons held ready at their sides. The lithe figure then steps towards me and begins to introduce himself when a sharp whinny cuts him off. I instinctively turn towards the sound and I watch as a fast-moving shape appears on the horizon. It takes me only a matter of seconds to identify the creature.

A magnificent white stallion gallops towards us, weaving agilely through the gaps in the trees. It leaps swiftly over a tree root protruding out from the forest floor, its muscles rippling beneath its glistening coat. Never before have I seen a horse move at such break-neck speeds, and through a dangerous terrain, nonetheless. The swift creature is upon us in a matter of moments, much to my utter amazement, and comes to a stop several feet in front of me. The animal rears up and lets out a squeal of fright upon noticing the body of the Warg, and it is then when I notice that the horse bears a rider. He is shrouded in a midnight blue cloak, and I watch as he leans forward to whisper something inaudible into the animal's ear. It takes a few moments, but the horse eventually calms enough to come to rest on all fours. The rider strokes the creature's neck soothingly before unclasping the front of the cloak and allowing it to fall from his shoulders.

My jaw goes slack.

The stranger's face is fair and smooth, framed by high cheekbones and dark eyebrows sparsely flecked with gold. Flawless. A pair of icy blue eyes rests beneath them and are currently gazing intensely into my own. I find myself strangely drawn to them, like a moth is to a light. An ageless wisdom seems to be buried within their sapphire depths, and beneath that a powerful emotion that I cannot even begin to uncover.

His pale lips are pursed into a thin line as he angles his chin upward, acknowledging my presence. A sudden gust of wind furls through the air, ruffling the long, white-gold hair that drapes loosely over his shoulders and blowing several strands into his face. Two small braids adorn his temples, revealing a pair of pointed ears.

He is an Elf. Immortal, powerful, fairest and wisest of all beings. Even in my delusional state, his very presence seems to have lulled me into a sort of trance. I sit in a stupid silence as I gap up at him, eyes bulging in shock.

I do not lie when I say that the sight of him renders me speechless.

"You're… an Elf," I manage to stammer out.

_Way to state the obvious, _I think to myself. My cheeks flush with embarrassment as the Elf gives me a strange look. I try to put on a friendly smile.

"I am," he replies calmly, his steady gaze unwavering. "And you are young girl who I suspect to be very, very lost. Am I correct, or have you intentionally meant to infiltrate our realm?"

"Well, er, it's just—I was-" I trail off as my words jumble together. He cocks his head slightly; somehow, he makes even such a tiny movement look graceful. I shake my head at my own idiocy and sigh heavily. "I'm sorry, it's just… I've been through quite a bit in the small amount of time I have regained consciousness. It's been a very—_intriguing _experience, being I don't even know how I ended up here in the first place."

"Has it now?" the Elf states, raising a graceful eyebrow. "I can only imagine. Do you mean to say that you have no memory whatsoever of how you came to be here?"

"In a way, yes," I tell him. "I can only remember bits and pieces, but as far as I know, something brought me here. Who, and for what reason, I do not know. I am sorry I cannot tell you more."

The Elf is silent for a moment as he ponders over my words.

"I assume that you were the one who killed the Orc?" he asks me suddenly, gesturing to the creature's corpse.

"Yes," I reply uneasily. "And they-" I nod to the six other figures, whom, judging by their similar accents, I presume are also Elves. "—felled the Warg."

"As I can see." The Elf then turns to them, speaking now in Elvish. "Ellisar, alert the patrols and search the area. Where there is one Orc, there is bound to be plenty more. Report your findings back to me, and pray do not stay out past nightfall. Far worse things lurk in the forest under the cover of darkness."

"Yes, my lord," say one of the Elves, bowing deeply. "We shall not linger for long. Though, if I may ask, what do you plan on doing with the girl?"

The blonde Elf glances sharply at me before replying.

"We shall see."

Then, just as quickly as they came, the Elves vanish into the depths of the forest. I watch the group melt into the shadows with a heavy heart, wondering what horrors they might face ahead of them. Having a good knowledge of the language of the Eldar, especially the Sindarin strain, I understood most of the short conversation between the two. Why would he send them away so quickly? He cannot possibly trust me already… can he?

"You are wounded."

His words disrupt my thoughts, and when I look back at him I find that he is looking down at something. I follow his gaze and find that he is staring intently at my hand. I frown when I discover the thin red line decorating my palm. The Orc blade must have grazed it when it collided with the rock.

"Sword wound," I say blandly. "It was either that or a swift beheading. I favored the first option."

"And your arm?" he asks. His tone is not sympathetic; he seems to be more curious than anything. I shrug lightly before leaning my head back against the tree.

"I don't know; I probably cut myself on a branch. It is not unlike me to do stupid things of the sort." My last sentence was a vain attempt at humor.

"I doubt that very much."

I let out a slightly hysterical laugh as my vision begins to grow blurry around the edges. I hadn't realized it until now, but I am beginning to lose my grip on reality. That being said, I hardly notice when my back muscles give out and I slump over onto the ground. Snow bites into the side of my face as black specks begin to dance before my eyes. I am so close, so close to being free of the pain. The forest seems to morph into an endless black tunnel, one that I can just barely make out a sliver of light at the end of it. I begin to chase after it, but the white light seems only to grow smaller the more I struggle to reach it.

Then, just as I finally succumb to the darkness enclosing me, I feel something soft and warm press against the side of my face.

_Do not give in to darkness. Come back to the light. _

Then there is nothing.


	2. Confined

**Author's note**: Hey guys! Thanks for sticking around to read the second chapter! I COMPLETELY forgot about writing an 'author's note' in the last chapter (oops!). Welp, I hope this sort of makes up for it. And before I forget, the events of this Fanfiction occur somewhere in between what occurs of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. Just thought I should mention that in case any of y'all were wondering. Hope you like Chapter 2, and feel free to leave reviews! Enjoy!

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own LotR, as much as it pains me to admit it. Ugh, to have Tolkien's imagination.**

* * *

The darkness welcomes me with open arms. It is an escape from the pain and suffering of reality, and as I drift aimlessly through the black, I feel like I might be able to stay this way forever... in this state of peaceful quiet. At the same time, a part of me is resistant to the seduction of this strange new world. It screams out for me to fight the darkness, to choose life over spending my days adrift in the endless black. At first I am reluctant to leave, but then I hear something that moves me to think otherwise. The sound of softly whispered words, a recent memory, echoing through space and time before reaching my weary ears.

_"Do not give in. Fight the darkness and return to the light."_

I know that voice. Stirring slightly, I will myself to wake from the strange dream. The darkness is resistant to let me leave, and for a moment I feel as though its suffocating walls might crush me. But, after a struggle that seems to last for an age, I finally manage to break through.

My eyes flutter open and I blink away the haziness of sleep. I start slightly upon noticing that I am no longer in a snow-covered forest and that there is not an endless blue sky stretching out above me. Instead, I am left staring up at a dark ceiling that seems to be made out of some sort of rock. Minute stalactites have sprouted out from it over time and now drip with moisture. A particularly large droplet of water splashes down onto my cheek, and I wrinkle my nose indignantly before raising up a hand to blot it off.

I slowly raise myself into a sitting position and take a quick overview of my whereabouts. The room, if I dare call it that, is so tiny that I can hardly stretch out my legs without becoming cramped. Walls enclose me from all sides, one of them being an enormous iron gate. The metal glints coldly in the flickering light of the lanterns lining the walls beside it, and I feel an enormous wave of anger wash over me.

_I'm in a _dungeon? _You have got to be joking!_

Blood boiling, I look down at myself and find that I am wearing the same garments, though they are no longer stained with splatters of mud and smears of blood. The cream-colored fabric is now flawless and seems to glow anew. When I glance over to my shoulder I discover that the torn sleeve has been mended. However, a small lump bulges up from beneath the fabric. I pull up my sleeve to investigate and find the cause of it to be a thick bandage that is wrapped tightly around my injured bicep. The wound underneath still stings, but the pain is mild compared to the immense throbbing in my head. Blinking slowly, I slide a hand up the side of my face and flinch when my fingers meet with an enormous knot protruding from my temple. The term 'headache' is an understatement as a blinding pain spreads out from the point of contact and all across my forehead. I gasp hoarsely and press my palm into my forehead, willing the agony to subside. It eventually does, but I am left sweaty and trembling from stress.

"There's always something," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head before rising to my feet. A pair of slippers account as my footwear, and I shiver when the cold of the stone floor seeps right through the thin fabric. Not only do they—whoever 'they' may be—lock me in their dungeons, but they took away my beloved boots as well? Annoyance creeping in, I stride briefly over to the gate and grip onto the bars with both hands. I squeeze my face through a gap in an attempt to make out where exactly I am.

The cell in which I am locked in is resting upon the edge of a sheer drop. My stomach flutters just thinking about anything related to heights, and I quickly turn my attention somewhere else. A thin pathway arches around the outside of the gate and branches out into a staircase that spirals upwards into a winding bridge above me. The structure spans the entire length of the chasm before dipping down and connecting with the far wall, which is lined with dungeon cells similar to the one I am in.

Speaking of bridges, I notice through wide eyes that the place is filled to the brim with them. They stretch out below me like massive vines, curving and twisting before attaching to the walls or each other. A roaring sound has begun to fill me ears as I gape at the structures, and I look down even further to find that the so called chasm is instead a massive waterway. Foaming rapids cascade down through a tunnel curving out from the left before settling down into a more peaceful turbulence as they flow downstream.

_I wonder where that leads to, _I think absentmindedly. That is when I notice the dark shapes bobbing up and down in the waters. I squint as I try to make out the objects in the dim light, but they disappear into the shadows before I can identify them.

Sighing tiredly, I am just about to turn back to my gloomy cell when the sound of footsteps captures my attention. Peering through the gate once more, I watch in nervous excitement as two figures appear out of a dark archway on the far wall. They walk out onto a bridge extending out towards my cells, and I can barely make out their words.

"…they grow more in numbers every day then we would in a century. Their boldness increases with their population; never before would an Orc dare to venture this far into our realm."

"I agree. You are not the only one having brought the matter to my attention. The dawn patrol recently reported having heard strange whispering among the trees; they claim that the creatures spoke as if they were afraid of something. Though what that something is, whether it be Orcs or something far more menacing, I have yet to know of."

"Nor I." As they near, one of the figures glances briefly in my direction. I crouch down as to be hidden in the looming shadow of the gate. Being caught snooping in on what sounds to be an important conversation would not be the best first impression for my captors.

Especially when said captors are speaking in Elvish.

"Have you checked on her lately?" says the same voice in a hushed whisper. The figure extends out an arm to point at me.

_No, not at me, _I correct myself. _At the cell. They can't see _me.

"Not since sunrise, though I have been told that she has yet to wake from her deep slumber. She was badly wounded, I recall. It has been rumored that the she might never wake at all."

"I do hope that does not come to be true. I would rather like to hear the story she has to tell; the Prince said that she claimed to have no memory of arriving in Mirkwood."

The Prince? As in _the _Elven Prince of Mirkwood? I am so flabbergasted that I begin to feel light-headed. Since when did the Prince know about my...

"My friend, I believe the girl has awoken."

A strange cold sensation races down my spine as the figures come closer and closer towards me. They see that I am awake. What will they do?

One of the Elves steps up the gate and looks down at my cowering form. He towers over me, his silhouette dark and looming, though his gaze is far from menacing. Not wanting to seem any weaker than I already am, I quickly stand up to my full height,

"I see you have awoken," he says in common tongue. "How do you fair?"

"I feel better than I did," I answer with polite honesty. "I appreciate your concern, though I do not quite understand why I am locked in the dungeons like a criminal. Have I done something to offend you?"

"Goodness, no! Far from it, actually. I pray you will forgive us for your unpleasant accommodations. The King is wary of outsiders, and for good reason. The forest is not like it once was. Dangerous things lurk in its depths, and though I certainly do not think you to be one of them, it is always good to be careful."

I nod my understanding, and the Elf smiles brightly.

"Now," he says, turning to his companion. "The young lady seems deserving of a walk, if I do say so myself. She has been cooped up long enough." The dark-haired Elf behind him gives a curt nod before pulling something from his tunic pocket. A low clattering sound gives away the identity of the object, and my eyes light up when I find it to be a key ring. He steps forward and, fingering through several keys, singles one out. He slips it into the gate lock and turns it sharply to the right. The gate gives a low moan before swinging ajar. The first Elf pulls it open before gesturing for me to step out. I swallow hard as I glance down at the sheer drop several steps in front of me, but nevertheless do as he says.

My footsteps are harsh compared to the light footfalls of the Elves, but I try to ignore the fact as I stride purposefully out of my cell. The raging rapids beneath me seem hiss out taunts as the gate closes with a snap behind me. They are eagerly willing me to stumble and fall down into their murky depths, never to surface again. Droplets of sweat break out across my forehead. I may be able to face Orcs and Wargs, but heights are a whole different story. I have always been terrified of cliffs and other tall places to the point of fault.

The Elves, or at least one of them, seems to sense my distress and glances at me sympathetically. His almond-shaped green eyes are kind, and I allow myself to become lost in them for a moment.

"Are you frightened?" he asks me softly. The rigidness of my stance must be enough of an answer for him, because he reaches out and takes my forearm in a large hand. "You need not be. Follow close to me, and I will not let you fall." I nod stiffly. The Elf's shimmering silvery hair seems to glow transcendently, mesmerizing me for a moment. Candlelight flickers across his face, turning his cheeks a warm auburn. He smiles at me before releasing my arm. Turning from me momentarily, he then leans in to whisper something in dark-haired Elf's ear. Then, after a short exchange of words, they appear to reach an agreement and nod to each other. The second Elf then casts a glance at me, dips his head, and then hurries off towards the staircase to my right and disappearing around the bend. My gaze follows his retreating form for a moment before flickering back to the remaining Elf. I raise my brows.

"I sent him to alert the King of your wakening," he tells me, as if reading my thoughts. "We have been given orders to escort you to his court for questioning. He is eager to learn of the reason you are here." The Elf studies me a moment before continuing. "As am I. Come now; we best not keep him waiting, and I'm sure you could use a good walk to warm your aching muscles." I give him a half-smile, the best I can do at the moment. He extends an elbow, and I loop my arm around it gratefully as he begins to lead me across the bridge from which he came. His form is elegant and smooth as he walks, whereas mine is stiff and slightly hunched. Images of the bridge collapsing beneath me have begun to creep into the dark corners of my mind. Would I die from the fall, or would I survive only to be drowned by the powerful river beneath? I shudder at the thought, keeping a firm hold of the Elf's arm.

As we walk in silence, I distract myself from the sheer drop by thinking about the Elven king. What will he look like? Will he believe the story I have to tell, or will I be thrown back into the dungeons as a liar?

My father had once mentioned to me that Mirkwood's King-Thranduil, I recall, was his name-was a very lithe and tall fellow, with pale features and eyes as grey as a winter storm. He was imposing and cold at times, yes, but never foolish. He wished only to protect his people and would do whatever it took to keep them, and his only son, safe. Other kingdoms did not concern him; he looked out for the Woodland Realm, nothing more.

"Tell me, what is your name?"

The Elf's words startle me from my thoughts, and I turn to find him gazing down upon me.

"Keira," I say lowly.

"Well met, Keira," he says, dipping his head. Not knowing what to do, I return the gesture awkwardly. "I am Taluharn of the Elven guard. From where do you hail?"

"I..." Heart pounding, I give him a quick shake of my head. Questions of that sort should be answered to the King, and to him alone. Taluharn gives me a curious look before promptly changing the subject.

"Your name... what meaning does it have among your people?"

His question catches me off guard, and I raise an eyebrow before answering.

"It means 'dark-haired'. My father thought it had a nice ring to it, but I personally think he picked it partially because of its meaning." The Elf's gaze travels down to the tangled ebony curls that rest on my shoulders, and then to the rounded ears peeking out from beneath then. He does not comment. "Some prefer to call me Vera," I say quickly. "It means 'faith'. They think it sounds better, I guess; more exotic."

"I think both suit you quite well," Taluharn says finally, looking me in the eye. "Which do you prefer to be called by?"

"I have no preference," I state blandly. "People could call me Mud or Dirt for all I care; such names might suit me better, even."

"Do not speak so lowly of yourself. I have only known you for a few minutes, yet you already seem perfectly respectable." His kind words give warmth to my saddened heart, and I smile up at him gratefully.

"Thank you, Taluharn." He nods to me before turning to look ahead of him.

We walk on in a thick silence. I look down at my feet as he leads me around a sharp curve, nausea sweeping over me. _Don't slip, don't slip. _

"You can relax now, Kiera. We are off the bridge."

My head snaps up and I let out a sigh of relief. Taluharn has, in fact, led me off the bridge. He strides lithely through the archway, me in tow, we now make our way into a dimly lit tunnel.

The hall is very narrow, and several arches leading into separate corridors line the walls. Taluharn slips his arm from mine in order for us to walk single file. The tunnel's sides seem to be slowly closing in on us, and I begin to feel horribly claustrophobic. Without the pleasant warmth of Taluharn's body beside mine, I feel strangely exposed. His presence comforted me, and having been away from other people for so long, I find myself wanting to seek him out again. The tunnel isn't as dank as the cell I was in, but it is just as dark, and the Taluharn's golden hair is all that is visible as he strides ahead of me. My heart begins to race as I imagine being left alone in the dark once more, even if it was unintentional. I am only human; my legs cannot quite keep up with him.

"Taluharn, wait up…"

I don't see the dark figure approach from the archway. My mind is so preoccupied to catching the fast-paced Elf that I don't notice the person step out in front of me until it is too late.

My forehead collides with something hard, and I let out a yelp of surprised. Stumbling back several steps, I nearly trip over my own clumsy feet when I notice the ominous silhouette. The figure takes a step towards me, and my eyes widen when I see the object clutched in his hand. It is a lighted torch, its flames flickering madly in the dreary light. The person slowly raises the object, allowing it to illuminate his face.

"Forgive me, I did not see you there."

The torch light glows upon the Elf's shimmering golden hair, very unlike the silvery color of Taluharn's, but familiar all the same. He extends a hand to help me up, I am just about to reach up and take it when something in his bright blue eyes lights up. Mine also bug slightly when I begin to recognize him. The Elf squints at me before raising his eyebrows slightly; he recognizes me.

"I see you have awoken," he tells me softly, leaning forward and curling his fingers around my wrist. I in turn wrap mine around his forearm as he hoists me to my feet.

"Kiera, are you—oh." Taluharn appears from down the hall as he begins to make his way towards me. Upon noticing that I am not alone, he stops in his tracks. The blonde Elf turns around to face him, and the flames licking off the torch glint in the whites of Taluharn's eyes.

"My liege," he stammers, bowing deeply.

_My liege?_

"Well met, Taluharn," the Elf says smoothly. "Where are you planning on taking her?" He nods in my direction, deep blue eyes questioning.

"The King has requested that she be taken to him as soon as she has woken. He wishes to speak to her of-"

"I know quite well what he wishes," snaps the blonde Elf. The venom in his tone surprises me. "She needs time to recover. You of all people should know this, after the most recent battle with the Orc pack."

The silver-haired Elf shudders, as if recalling an unpleasant memory, before straightening.

"I was only doing what the King ordered, my lord."

"I appreciate that, and I'm sure the King does also, but the girl cannot be expected to recover from such a wound in the matter of a day. She needs time to heal before we take her to my father. We do not need her fainting from lack of rest in the presence of Thranduil. I cannot imagine that he would appreciate it any more than I would."

_His FATHER?_

Taluharn opens his mouth to say more, but judging by the look the Elf shoots him, it is no surprise to me when he closes it without a word.

"As you wish," he says, bowing once more, though the motion seems stiffer this time. "I shall alert the King at once." The blond Elf's features seem to relax slightly, and he dips his head at Taluharn. The guard's gaze flickers to me before quickly dancing away, and he turns on heel before melting into the depths of the hallway.

The silence following Taluharn's leave does not last long.

"I don't believe I know your name," states the Elf. His cobalt gaze is intense, and I resist the impulse to shy away.

"Keira," I say quietly. The Elf blinks with surprise, almost as if he didn't expect me to answer. He seems to catch a glimpse of my anxious expression, and a smile twists at the corners of his lips.

"Keira," he says. "It has a very nice ring to it."

_Did he just complement me?_

The Elf gives a graceful bow before continuing.

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm."

* * *

**Well, there you have it! Ta-da! I know it's not quite as long as Chapter 1, but Chapter 3 should hopefully be long enough to make up for it. Speaking of Chap. 3, I hope to have it up and running sometime within this week. I hate making you guys wait! As I mentioned before, feel free to review. I love hearing from you guys!**


	3. The Prince

Author's note:_ Chapter 3 is finally done! *confetti* Hope you guys like it! ENJOY! _

* * *

**Disclaimer: I still do not own the Lord of the Rings or any of its characters, save Keira, Taluharn, and a couple others. **

* * *

"_Prince_?"

I am hardly able to squeak out the word. Can this Elf really be the famed son of Thranduil?

Legolas tilts his head to the side, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He's amused at my reaction, and I scold myself for behaving so immaturely. I clear my throat before clasping my hands together in front of me.

"Apologies," I say, my voice wavering. "It is just... not every day that I get to meet the famed Prince Legolas. I've heard a lot about you, from my father especially. He always told me stories of how you and your father fought bravely in the Battle of the Five Armies." Somehow, my words seem to wound him. His expression becomes stoic, and all traces of humor leave his eyes.

My lips purse together as I frown at his darkened features. I don't recall having said something to offend him, but then again, he is an Elf. Perhaps all of them are this... sensitive.

"Forgive me," I say. "If I offended you, it was not my intention."

The Prince's eyes bore deeply into mine, and I swallow hard. His expression is so unreadable that it frightens me. What _did _I do to cause such a drastic mood swing? Moments ago we seemed on friendly terms, but now… I'm not sure.

The Prince's features remain unmoving for a long moment, and I am about to speak up when he beats me to it.

"It is not your place to speak of such a dark time," the Elf says suddenly, eyes blazing with blue flames. "Some things are better left unspoken."

"Forgive me," I say once more, my voice a hushed whisper. "Perhaps it is better if I do not speak at all."

Legolas frowns. "I did not say that." He then turns and begins to walk down the hall. "Come with me, and let us be free of this darkness. I will lead you to the sunlight."

His words bring back a hazy memory from when I lay bleeding in the forest. It is foggy and distant, but I distinctly remember the gentle words being spoken into my ear.

_Do not succumb to the darkness. Come back to the light. _

It was him! He was the one who spoke to me, who brought me out from the darkness. All along, it was him who saved me.

My heart hammers inside of my chest at the realization, and I cannot stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

"It was you," I breathe. Legolas freezes mid stride and looks over his shoulder. My mouth has fallen agape in my amazement, and my eyes feel as wide as saucers.

"I knew it. You were the one who spoke to me. You brought me back from near death. I would've died if not for you." A knowing look flickers across his expression before quickly fading away.

"Yes," he states dryly. "It was I, but the past is not my concern. Dwelling in it can only bring pain." He closes his eyes momentarily, and I am shocked to see the grief etched into his features.

"I know," I say slowly. "I tell that to myself often. I just thought that I should mention-"

Legolas has already begun to walk forward as I speak, and my words appear to be falling on deaf ears. I shut my mouth with a snap before hurrying after him.

Something must have happened to him. Long ago, I guess. An old wound that I appear to have unintentionally reopened.

As I trail behind him, I sadly observe the hunched posture of his body. His shoulders are shrugged forward, his head bowed slightly. Even the heavy darkness cannot mask the misery weighing down upon his form.

A thought dawns on me then. Looking at the Elf is like looking upon my own reflection from several years past. I walked like that at one time; that was how I coped with…Loss.

Loss. An enormous, ugly monster that haunts your dreams and darkens your days. I am all too familiar with the beast; it still chases after me, even after all the years I have tried to evade it. It took me months to realize that loss cannot be escaped, but instead faced head on. You have to battle with it for as long as you live.

And for a long, bitter decade I have warred with the death of my father.

Byron Whitam. I wish—I long—for him to still be here. To sing his glorious songs to me like he did when I was a girl; just one verse would be enough to numb the pain.

But he is not here to do so, and that realization pierces through me like a spear. Perhaps if I had not seen him that dreaded day, the agony might be easier to deal with.

Only I did see him.

I saw his unmoving body, riddled with Orc arrows, being carted into the square. Only moments earlier I had been fighting my way to front of the crowd, anxiously awaiting my father's return. I did not know that my efforts had, instead, granted me a clear view of the bodies.

Never will I forget the stoic faces of the guards as they lifted his bulky form from the cart and rolled it onto the ground beside the bodies of five other men. The reeking smell of the corpses as they festered in the heat of the sun had filled my nostrils like thick sludge. Families had gathered around the bodies, sobbing and retching with the horror of it all.

But I did not weep, not a single tear, as I watched his body's blood dry on the ground. While he still lived, my father had taught me that such acts of grief would not arouse the dead. They were simply a waste of time.

Instead, it was anger that broiled in my blood as I watched my own people jostle his paled body, attempting to shake life back into it. It enraged me that the fools refused to accept the inevitable. I vaguely recall storming over to his limp form and wrenching the people away from him, sending some stumbling back into the crowd. I shouted horribly at them, told them that they should die as well if they were to behave so selfishly. My father had been a fairly wealthy man and would share a good portion of his wages to the unfortunate. Most of the people whom obtained the money, however, took advantage of his generosity and relied fully upon his monthly gifts instead of finding a way to earn their own wages.

His death sealed their worthless fates as well.

That night, the soldiers stacked together an enormous mound of wood and lathered it with oil. They then wrapped the bodies of the men in thick brown sacks and set them alight atop it.

Nothing remained that following morning but ash and bone.

I was told that the square was thoroughly washed afterwards, but they could never quite scrub Byron's blood out of the gaps in the cobblestones. And every time I ventured to that dismal place, I saw only his pale form lying dead on the ground.

The guards had told me that he would be going on a short hunting trip. That my father would be sent out with a group of men to hunt a herd of deer that arrived from the west. They said he would come home alive and well at dawn's first light, not midday in a cartful of bodies.

That was when we first learned that the Orcs had invaded our borders. The foul creatures made their presence well known after the death of my father and the other men. Soldiers were scheduled to be sent out to fend off the beasts, but their efforts would be in vain.

After we learned of the beasts inhabiting our land, I was grief-stricken and terrified. I was only in my teen years at the time; to me, monsters only lived in the nightmares that would occasionally haunt my sleep. They weren't supposed to be in the real world, yet somehow they were.

For a long, bitter year I stayed within the protected walls, thinking that it would be more logical to remain with my people. But after a brutal attack left fifteen of our best fighters dead, I could bear it no longer. I saddled a horse and fled the city. The citizens thought that I was a loon for leaving, and perhaps I was at the time.

But at least I am still here to tell the tale.

Two weeks after I took my leave of the city, the small kingdom of Brunsfarrow was destroyed by Warg riders. The beasts burned it to the ground and let most of its inhabitants die in the toxic fumes of the smoke. It was rumored that the few citizens that escaped didn't even make it across the river before the Orcs and their wolves caught up with them.

After seeing the smoke on the horizon, I travelled far and wide before settling in the Brown Lands. The grasslands were where my father had instructed me to go if the city were ever to fall. They were relatively free of Orcs and housed plenty of game animals.

The dusty patch of flat earth in which I live provides for my needs, but darkness had begun to creep into the plains. The tall grass was wilting until it became nothing more than dry brown clumps, and the wildlife I hunted for food had either died of hunger or moved on to more prosperous lands. I was about to follow them before I somehow ended up in Mirkwood.

"Prince Legolas?" I ask suddenly, disrupting my own thoughts. "If I may ask, where do you plan on taking me?"

"Out," he states simply. I huff lightly. I've always hated it when people avoid my questions.

Nevertheless, I continue to follow the Elven Prince down the tunnel.

When Legolas said he was taking me 'out', I did not know that he meant it literally.

The Prince leads me through endless corridors and winding bridges until we finally come upon a large doorway. He sets his torch on the ground and stomps out the flames before pushing open the twin gates before him.

Rays of sunlight stream through them as soon as they swing ajar and I raise up an arm to shield my eyes. They have grown so accustomed to the gloom of the caverns that the prospect of light is foreign to them. Legolas, however, seems unaffected and purposefully strides out of the gates, gesturing for me to follow. I blink several times before I am able to make out what lies before me.

My mouth drops open in amazement.

A magnificent courtyard sits outside of the doorway. Towering apple trees grow alongside a cobblestone pathway that branches out from the gates. The trees appear to be unaffected by the bitter winter that blankets southern Mirkwood and are now blossoming with magnificent white flowers. Small bushes are scattered in the bare earth surrounding the natural structures, their blossoms adding gorgeous shades of violet, ruby, and deep indigo to the scenery. Birds of various species and color flutter through the treetops, songs bursting from their lungs. A low humming sound fills my ears as bumblebees zoom lazily over the plant life in search of nectar.

The sky above me is aglow with colors of orange and pink as dawn breaks over the horizon. The warm rays of the morning sun shine down upon my face, and chills bumps raise up on my arms as my tan skin absorbs the much needed heat.

"This is beautiful," I tell Legolas as I follow him down the pathway.

"I would hope so. It is the King's courtyard."

I freeze in place, my muscles seizing up as if I had just been struck by lightning.

"What?" I ask, looking up at the Elf. Legolas is standing several feet in front of me, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"I said, it is the King's courtyard," says the Prince. "He requested that it be built so that he may have a place to think when important decisions must be made." He looks up towards the treetops, and I watch as a bluebird dives down from the branches. The small creature tweets upon noticing the Prince and flutters down in front of him. Legolas extends his finger and smiles when the bird alights on the newfound perch. Upon catching my awestruck expression, the Elf ushers me forward.

I tentatively creep towards the Prince, careful not to trip on any protruding tree roots, until I am standing a foot or so in front of him. The bird, still resting upon his finger, cocks its head at me before giving its wings a little flap.

_Fear not, she means you no harm_, comes the soft whisper from Legolas, though the Elvish words are not directed toward me. The Prince glances at me before reaching down and taking my wrist in his hand. Eyes never leaving mine, he raises up my fisted hand and slowly uncurls my tense fingers. Something about the way he does so sends my nervous heart aflutter, and I tremble slightly.

"Relax, Keira," he says softly. I obey and allow my muscles to loosen. Legolas then leans down and whispers something to the bird. The creature tilts its head towards him, listening intently, before letting out a tweet and hopping from his finger onto my outstretched palm. My lips part in amazement as the animal gazes up at me, its little eyes wide with innocence. I gently raise up my free hand, careful not to startle it, and gently stroke the feathers on its head with a fingertip. The bird appears to like it and leans into my hand contently. It gives a pleasant shudder before fluffing up and nestling itself down into my palm.

"How?" I whisper, glancing up at Legolas. The Elf's expression is silken as he watches me stroke the bird.

"Elves are very in tune with nature," he replies. "Every living creature, whether it be a tree or beast, knows of our bond to the earth. They speak to us, warn us of danger; we in turn give them refuge here in the Woodland Realm."

"And yet I thought I knew all there was to know about the Elves."

"I could say the same about the race of Men," Legolas says. "I thought them to be a haughty, arrogant race. Though I know some who are amiable in their own ways, but you are unlike any human I have met."

"My father was a wise man," I say, "He taught me well."

"And where is your father now? Does he remain in Brunsfarrow?"

I am slightly taken aback by his question. I do not recall mentioning the city to him.

"How do you know about Brunsfarrow?" I ask.

"I was told that you spoke of it while you slept."

My cheeks flush bright cranberry.

"I, er—sorry about that. And… no. He is not."

Legolas frowns and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off just in time.

"Prince Legolas, I… I'd rather not talk about it," I stammer. "Brunsfarrow was… destroyed, a very long time ago. The Orcs burned it."

The Elf's brow softens slightly, and I drop my gaze to look at the bird in my hand. It appears to have fallen asleep, judging by its heavy breathing and closed eyes.

"Your reluctance to answer what is asked of you will not be accepted by my father," Legolas says firmly. "Nor will I be satisfied with your silence."

"I know this," I say, gently running my fingers along the bluebird's wings. "But for now, I believe that some things are better left..." My voice catches on the last word. "Concealed."

_No, Keira. You cannot weep now. Remember what father told you._

The thoughts, however, only add to the sorrow mounting on my shoulders. I close my wet eyes to prevent the tears from breaking through. My throat hitches to contain a sob, and I lock my jaw angrily.

_Wallowing in self-pity will not bring back what has been lost._

"The reason I brought you here was not to cause you sorrow."

The Prince's tone is gentle, and I force myself to open my eyes and look up at him. The morning sun reflects off of his golden hair, and the Elf's fair features glow almost transcendently. His lips are pursed together tightly.

"Then why would you bring me here, then?" I ask, a sudden anger overcoming my sorrow. "To interrogate me until I tell you what you want to hear?"

"Interrogation is a harsh word. I do mean to question you, but it is not of my knowing what will and will not harm your emotions. I ask your forgiveness if my words wound you, but that does not give you the right to deny me an answer."

He speaks of me as if I am a child!

"You sent Taluharn to tell the king that I was too weak to be questioned, and yet here you are now! I thought that Elves were supposed to be honest creatures."

"I did not speak untruthfully," he says indignantly. "You underestimate Thranduil. If given the choice, I can assure you that you would much prefer answering to me than to him. Especially judging by the fragile state you seem to be in."

"Do I _look _fragile?" I exclaim. The loud sound startles the bird awake, and it gives a cry of alarm before darting from my hand and retreating back into the shelter of the trees. Legolas's eyes seem to ignite with blue fire as I take a step towards him. "If I had to choose, I would say that the weak one was you for lying to Taluharn! Now he has to deny the orders of the King, all because the Prince wished to question me first. Is that how it's going to be? Everyone fighting to be the one who gets to force answers from me first? Well, I am sorry, but if that is the case I am not going to be a part of it!" I turn on heel, prepared to storm back towards the doors, when I feel something hard and distinctly sharp press into my upper back.

_So this is how he wants to play? By pulling knifes on me?_

In that moment, I forget that he is an Elf. I forget that my actions could mean my own death.

I lose all sense of logic to rage.

Letting out a yell, I whirl around and knock his arm away from me. The white blade he held clutched in his hand clatters to the ground, but he kicks it out of the way before I have a chance to grab it. He then lunges forward and, in a smooth, swift motion, kicks my legs out from underneath me. I cry out in surprise before landing flat on my back. The hard stone knocks the wind right out of me, and I desperately gulp in air. I lay there for a long moment before something grips my forearm and yanks me to my feet.

For once, Legolas actually looks genuinely irritated. Eyes narrowed, he raises a hand to his forehead before and rubs his temples before pointing towards a small stone bench beside him.

"Sit," he commands tiredly. "Before I am moved to cut out your tongue."

I do not protest and obediently seat myself on the bench. I swing one leg over the other as Legolas stands before me, pinching the bridge of his nose. I gaze up at him, rebellion gleaming in my eyes. I am angry with him for lying to both me and Taluharn, but having been knocked on my bum has acted as an extinguisher of the raging fire within me. Legolas has beaten me.

For now.

"Now," he begins, clearing his throat. "Seeing as though I have subdued you, would it be such a feat to ask you how you came to be in Mirkwood?"

I glare up at him. "As I said before, I don't know."

"I do not believe you," Legolas states simply. "Surely you must have some idea of how you came to be in in the forest. People do not just appear out of thin air."

"The only thing I recall was that I was attacked by an Orc pack in the Brown Lands," I tell him. "I managed to defend myself for a short time, but one of them cut me with their blade." I glance over at my shoulder. "I don't remember the turn out of the fight, but I suspect that it was not in my favor."

"Judging by how you faired during our brief match, I can confidently second that opinion."

"I did not have any means of defending myself!" I cry.

"That is no excuse," Legolas says nonchalantly. "A true warrior does not need weapons to turn the tide of war. Keen wits succeed against iron or steel."

"That's not what I've heard," I grumble. Much to my surprise, the Elf grins.

"I must say, the human race is very peculiar in their teachings."

"The same could be said about the Elves," I bite back. "Trust me, I have heard many things. Now I thought you were going to ask me questions, not comment on the strangeness of my race."

"Patience," he snaps, the grin vanishing from his lips, and I recoil slightly at his tone. "You talk too much, Keira of Brunsfarrow. Learn to control your tongue, or it could become the end of you."

I remember my father saying something like that when I was a young girl. He would comment on how my tongue was sharper than any sword and had the ability to cut like one.

Legolas's words seem to slap some sense into me, and I abruptly silence myself.

"You mentioned that Brunsfarrow was destroyed… what became of the people of the city?"

"They were consumed by the fire and smoke or slaughtered where they stood," I say. "There were no survivors."

"Was your father killed in the pillage of the city?" Legolas asks.

"No," I say unsurely. "Several weeks before the desolation of the city, my father went out with five other men to hunt a herd of deer. The Orcs caught them by surprise and felled them from a distance. Their accuracy with the bow and arrow was supreme." Legolas stares off at a point in the distance and nods slowly.

"Why do you ask?" I question.

"When did you flee to the Brown Lands?" he asks, changing the subject.

"A week or two before the Orcs came."

"Did anyone follow you?"

"No. They were all killed during the siege." The conversation has begun to take its toll on me. I can already feel weariness begin to creep back into my limbs.

"Keira," the Elf says, kneeling down before me. "I can sense that you are fading, but the importance of what I ask of you must be placed over your need to rest. Did you come upon anyone, anyone at all, during your journey towards the Brown Lands?"

"I did not, unless you count the rabbits and deer."

Legolas's face darkens as clouds pass over the sun, casting a looming shadow over the courtyard.

"Prince Legolas, what has happened?" I ask, careful not to venture too far with my questions. "Why do you ask me such strange things? Just give me a sword and a horse and I shall be on my way back to the Brown Lands, never to return. This I assure you; there is no need to question me."

"I will not send you off so that you may be hunted down and killed by Orcs."

"Why would you care?"

My tone is harsher than I meant it to be, but there's not going back now.

"You are an Elf. I am nobody. Why should you concern yourself with the wellbeing of a wayward mortal girl?"

The Prince sighs and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind a pointed ear. The corners of his mouth dip downwards, giving him a weary look, and he refuses to meet my gaze.

"Because you remind me of someone I once knew," he replies lowly.

His words jab into my heart like spikes of ice. Some small, pitiful part of me had the blind hope that Legolas was genuinely concerned with my safety. But that is not so. No, he wishes to protect me because I… _remind _him of someone?

"I understand," I lie, looking down at my lap. "What do you plan on doing with me, then?"

"My intention was to let you stay here until your injuries have fully healed, then to have you sent back to the Brown Lands with a patrol."

"Oh… well, my arm doesn't really hurt that bad anymore, so I guess you could go ahead and—"

A warm hand presses into my shoulder, abruptly silencing me. I look up wryly and see the Prince looking at me with a furrowed brow. He holds my gaze for a moment before letting his fall as he stands up once more.

"You are a terrible liar," he says finally. "And the farthest thing from an enemy that I have ever seen. I believe that you have answered enough of my questions for now; I have kept you from resting for far too long."

I give him a half-hearted smile before getting to my feet, prepared to make the long walk back to the dungeons.

"My liege, the King has requested your audience."

I jump slightly at the voice and turn to see Taluharn standing by the doorway. The Elf's eyes widen slightly, and it is in that moment when I notice my startling proximity to the Prince. Legolas seems to realize this as well and, shooting a glance at me, takes a step backward. My cheeks flush in embarrassment as Taluharn continues to gape but makes no comment.

"Thank you, Taluharn," Legolas says. "I best not keep him waiting. Send for a guard to escort Keira to her new accommodations, and tell my father that I shall be with him shortly." The Elf dips his head politely before disappearing through the doorway. Then, turning to me, the Prince speaks again.

"Taluharn will find someone to escort you to your new quarters," he says. "I would have him do so instead, but he is far too busy seeing to the patrols. Do not fret; you will not be left waiting for long." Legolas then begins to make his way towards the doorway.

"Prince?" I call out tentatively. The Elf stops mid-stride before looking at me once more.

"Yes?"

"Why did you ask about my father?"

His eyes close for a brief moment, his lips forming into a thin line.

"Keira, I do not think that now is the time too…"

"Please!" I burst out, my eyes beginning to grow moist with emotion. "Please, tell me."

Legolas holds my pleading gaze before beginning to walk away once more. He has almost reached the gates when, he pauses and glances over his shoulder.

"I knew your father, Keira of Brunsfarrow." A small shudder runs up his back and out along his arms, and his blue eyes glaze over with an unreadable emotion.

"I watched him die."

And with that he vanishes into the shadows.

* * *

**Dun dun DUN! Sorry about all the cliffhangers, but I feel like they give the story some much needed suspense. What do you guys think? Feel free to review, and thanks again for reading! :D**


	4. A Conversation with a King

Hey guys! I'm finally back! Sorry that I took so long to update… I've been very busy! Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long to post. Hope you all like Chapter 4! Enjoy!

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's work.**

* * *

"My lady?"

I wake with a sharp cry at the sound of the voice. My blurry eyes take in the dark form of the Elven maid, Caladwen, standing in the doorway of my room. She holds a dull bronze tray in her hand.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." Caladwen sweeps into the room and sets the tray down beside my sleeping pallet. Sweet-smelling bread and various kinds of cheeses rest on top of it, and my mouth waters at the aroma of food.

"I had been told that you had not eaten since you were first brought here," she continues, then adds. "The King wishes to speak to you shortly. Taluharn has been instructed to return for you in the quarter of the hour in order to take you to the washing room. I am sure you must be in need of a bath. Several new outfits have been laid out for you in the dresser."

"Thank you," I tell her softly, taking the tray in my hands. The faint glow of the lantern light dances across her features as Caladwen smiles at me. She then gives me a polite nod before bustling out of the arch way.

Caladwen had retrieved me from the King's courtyard shortly after my bitter-sweet exchange with Legolas. The she-elf and I had exchanged polite formalities, but my mind was somewhere far, far away when she led me to my new accommodations. The gentle Elf had guided me back through the tunnels before we came upon a particularly large and winding bridge. After crossing it, a short hall lead into a spacious room located in one of the multiple arches I had seen during my leave of the dungeons. In the room was a sleeping pallet stuffed with down feathers, a stout dresser, and a hanging lantern attached to the wall above a short bookshelf. Caladwen had left shortly after we arrived in my room, claiming that she would 'let me rest.' As if I could peacefully slumber with Legolas's ominous words still ringing in my ears.

For the longest time I sat upright on the soft pallet, my back propped up on the wall behind me, and replayed his statement over and over in my head.

_"I watched him die."_

But how could he? My father was far from Mirkwood at the time of this death; the Orcs were said to have ambushed his patrol near the base of the Ash Mountains, a landform that partially surrounds the desolate country known as Mordor. Legolas would have had to be some distance from the forests of Mirkwood in order to witness my father's murder. An Elf such as he would, or should, have no business that close to the dark lands. Only men such as my father were brave enough to hunt there, and his courage cost him his life.

And saying that he knew him? It made no sense at all. My father never mentioned having known, much less spoken to, a Wood Elf such as Legolas. Surely he would have told me if he had! Byron rarely kept anything from me; there were few secrets between us.

Or were there?

"Why did you have to go on that hunt," I whispered aloud. "If you had just stayed in Brunsfarrow, you might still be alive. Why did you have to die?"

The tears come before I can stop them. They cascade down my cheeks in rivulets as sobs rack my body. For years I had kept my emotions at bay, but meeting Legolas had done something to me that I couldn't, and still can't, explain. He resurrected feelings within me that even I had forgotten could be felt. The Elf has a foreign, almost supernatural, air about him.

He does strange things to my human mind.

I sat there for long hours, hugging my legs to my chest as I let the tears flow freely. Better to cry now than in the presence of the King; at least, that is my excuse.

Eventually, the sobs had receded, and I had managed to fall asleep. The night was not a pleasant one; my dreams were filled only with darkness and death. Orcs bearing dark blades hunted me down in an inescapable maze; Wargs with gleaming red eyes pursued me through dark forests.

That is why, when Caladwen woke me, my eyes were red and swollen from tears.

I rest the tray on my lap, cringing when the cold metal sends chills down my bare legs. During the wee hours of the night, my nightmares had elevated my heart rate and made me incredibly hot. I was moved to change into a thin silver nightgown I found stowed in the dresser. But now, I as sink my teeth into the frigidly cold cheese, I am beginning to regret the decision.

It takes me only a matter of minutes to finish off the bread and cheese, and for the first time in what seems like forever, I actually feel satisfied. The amount of food was small, but just large enough to silence my rumbling stomach. I lick the remains of the bread crumbs off my fingers before gazing out towards the archway.

A faint orange glow had begun to spread into the room. Sunlight, though very sparse, is still able to creep into the corridor in which I inhabit. Judging by the faintness of the rays, I would guess that the morning is still anew.

I give an enormous yawn and, setting down the empty tray, stretch out my stiff arm muscles. My wounded shoulder seems to be healing quite nicely. The once jagged cut now appears to be nothing more than a thin red line.

_ I wonder what medicines they gave me while I remained unconscious,_ I think absentmindedly before rising to my feet.

The dresser sits a foot or so from my sleeping pallet, and I step over to it before pulling open one of its three drawers. Crouching down, I am forced to squint to make out its contents in the dim lighting.

Much to my dismay, it seems that I have not been given a wide variety of clothing choices.

The drawer is packed full with dresses and various semi-formal outfits worn by Elven maidens. I scoff at them; the thought of having the Elves see me in a white-laced, frilly dress is laughable at best. The tightness of the fabric would most certainly show off every curve (or lack of them) that I possess. How would they react to seeing me in such attire?

I shudder at the thought of it.

A tan, button-down tunic, a green undershirt, and gray leggings appear to be the only semi-tolerable options. I glance back at the archway, double checking that I am still alone, before sliding the nightgown from my shoulders and snatching up the new outfit.

Having quickly slipped on the leggings and shirt, I am already buttoning down the tunic when I notice the hand-held mirror resting upon the dresser. I start slightly and nearly lose my balance on the uneven floor. After all, it has been nearly five years since I last looked upon my own reflection. Curiosity overcomes me, and my hands fall from the tunic before reaching out to pick up the mirror. Fingers shaking, I twiddle the object for a moment before peering down to look at it.

I hardly recognize the person staring back at me.

My face is thinner, much thinner, than I remember it being. Severely prominent cheekbones give me a semi-hollow appearance, and the paleness of the skin stretching over my features is frightening in itself. It is as white as snow; very different from the amber tan I last remember it having. Pale green eyes gaze back at me from beneath thinly arched eyebrows, weighed down by ugly purple bags that reveal my lack of sleep. My nose is more sharpened and angular than it once was. It reminds me of my father's. My hair is tangled into a horrid mass of ebony curls that has formed around my face like a fuzzy halo.

I give a small gasp of horror and nearly scream when the person in the mirror does the same. My grip loosens on the handle, and the thin object slips from my grasp. It clatters to the floor before shattering like pane of glass. Tiny, dagger-like shards glint menacingly in the dull sunlight.

_What on earth happened to me?_

Never, _never _have I looked like this. Not even during the great famine Brunsfarrow went through several years before the Orc invasion. A severe drought caused our grain crops to shrivel up from lack of water. People were dying on the streets from starvation. I was painfully thin back then, we all were; but lack of nourishment never showed on my face like this.

I gaze down at the remains of the mirror and begin to feel light headed. I no longer look like the fair, innocent girl that grew up in Brunsfarrow. My features have morphed and hardened to create the rugged face of a survivor. That is all that I am, after all…a selfish, lonely girl who fled her doomed people to preserve her own pitiful life. I did not attempt to fight off the Orcs like all the others.

Years of emptiness and pain have served as my punishment for the selfish act.

What would my father say if he were to see me now? Surely he would be disgusted. I am not the girl I once was; I am Nobody, a creature uncared for and made hideous by the dark things that pursue its dreams. A Loner, having chosen a life of hollowness and solitude after everything it had ever known was destroyed.

And it appears that the endless days of mourning have finally taken their toll on me.

The voice is familiar, but my thoughts are so wayward that I cannot place it immediately.

"Taluharn," I say finally. "I was just about too…"

_Wait a minute._

That voice… it is different from Taluharn's light spoken tone. Deeper, clearer; more distinctive. I look over my shoulder, and my eyes immediately fall into the sapphire gaze of the Prince.

"Oh," I say stupidly, turning round to face him. "My apologies. I thought you were Taluharn."

Legolas quirks an eyebrow.

"Um, do you… is there a problem?"

"No," he says blandly. The Elf observes me for a moment before continuing.

"I came to bid you farewell," he says. "An Orc pack has invaded our borders to the east. My father has ordered that I lead the dawn patrol to clear them out. Meanwhile, as you know, Thranduil wishes to speak to you shortly. Taluharn will be here soon to take you to him."

We stand in silence for a long moment. The Prince is leaving? The thought is terrifying to me; for what reason, I do not know. I have only known the Elf for two days at most, but it feels like forever.

"Oh—well —I hope your travels are smooth, Prince Legolas." My cheeks flush with embarrassment; what am I even saying? "Orcs are… very nasty creatures. Please do be careful. There are sure to be many of them." The lantern light dances in his clear blue irises, and he blinks at me.

_Keira, control your tongue!_

"It will take no longer than a single day's time; Elves require little rest, if you must know. Fighting Orcs can be a simple pastime if we wish it to be."

"Of course, it's just…" I trail off and clamp down hard on my fumbling tongue, silencing myself. A bemused smile dances across the Prince's features. He gives me a low bow before turning on heel and striding towards the opening.

"Prince Legolas?"

Legolas stops in the shadow of the archway before turning to look at me.

"Yes, Keira?"

"How did you see my father die?"

The Elf narrows his eyes before blinking slowly.

"Now is not the time to speak of it," he says simply. "Perhaps some other time."

"Then promise me that you will tell me when you return?"

Legolas sighs before giving a small nod.

"You have my word."

And he is gone before I can speak another word.

A bath has never felt so wonderful.

The water in the tub has been heated to a comfortable warm degree. Several of the Elves had scattered a mixture of lavender and rose petals along its surface. Probably for the smell, I would guess. Some sort of soft oil floats at the water's surface, and it seems to make the skin that it touches glow.

Perhaps this is how Elves have such flawless skin.

The silken waters lap at my chin as I sink down into them, and I let out a sigh of pleasure. I dip and allow them to soak in my hair. When I surface, my ebony curls now feel as soft as velvet. The tangles seem to have fallen right out. I happily comb my fingers through my damp locks before wringing them out. Taluharn told me that I should take no longer than ten minutes, and I do not intend to disobey his orders.

I brace my arms an either side of the metal tub and raise myself up out of it. Swinging my legs over the lip, I quickly grab the towel folded neatly onto the stone ground beneath and dry myself off. My clothing lies in a small pile beside the tub, and once I am relatively dry I reach down to pick them up.

After dressing myself in the soft Elvish attire, I use the towel to dry a good portion of the remaining moisture out of my hair. Then, sliding on a pair of slippers, I make my way out of the washing room and back towards the archway in which Taluharn waits for me.

The Elf grins upon seeing me, and I smile wryly.

"You look much better," he says.

"The bath was very lovely," I reply. "I was as grungy as a dog." The Elf laughs lightly before offering me an arm.

"Come now; let us go to the King."

Thranduil's hall is more magnificent than I could have ever imagined.

Enormous stone pillars tower up on all sides as Taluharn leads me up a long stretch of stairs. The pearly white structures are carved to look like trees and branch up all the way to the ceiling before melting into the roof of the Palace. Sunlight creeps in through multiple archways beyond the room, and I can barely hear the far off roaring of the river deep within the elven city.

When the Elf and I finally arrive at the top of the stairwell, my calf muscles have begun to ache in protest. The walk from my new accommodations to the center of the Palace was grueling. It consisted of many long bridges and dark tunnels, along with the occasional spiraled staircase.

I groan with relief when we finally come to a halt and am about to stretch out my arms when I notice the looming shadow being cast over me. My muscles lock into place, and I inhale sharply when I realize where I am. My eyes travel upward to find another, much smaller staircase that winds up towards a magnificent throne. The high-backed chair is crowned with an enormous rack of antlers, but that is not what catches my attention.

"I assume that you are the one my son has spoken of?"

The bold grey eyes of the Elven king Thranduil bore into me like daggers of ice, and I resist the impulse to shy away once more. The smooth coldness of his voice sweeps over me like a gust of wind, and I shudder slightly. The Elf sits upon the throne, his silver robe glimmering in the sunlight. A spider-like pendant encrusted with a large blue jewel holds together the outfit's high collar. One of his knees is crossed over the other, revealing gray leggings and tall boots that blend well with the rest of his attire. A tall Elven crown rests upon his head; the piece consists of a delicately interweaved mass of brown twigs that stretches around the back of his head and curls down in front of his ears. It is sparsely adorned with crimson berries, signifying the winter season. Long, golden-blonde hair nearly identical to Legolas's falls neatly down his shoulders.

I do not lie when I say that the sight of him intimidates me.

"I am," I tell him, my voice clear and powerful despite my anxiety.

Thranduil cocks his head. His gaze catches mine again, and I allow myself to glance away as I look to the person beside me. Taluharn stands calmly, and his gaze falls softly onto me as I peer up at him. He frowns at me before nodding towards the King, and I sigh shakily.

"Your highness," I say, looking back to Thranduil. "I would like to thank you for allowing me to stay here in the Woodland Realm. I know I have been a burden, and I would not have blamed your son if he instead let me die out in the forest." The Elf does not reply at first but instead rises from his throne, a stoic expression on his face.

"Legolas has always had sympathy for the weak," he says simply. "And the race of men is very fragile indeed. It was he who decided that you would stay here, not I. As far as I am concerned, a human amongst Elves can do nothing but harm."

I wince at his harsh tone, and Thranduil squints at me.

"How old are you, girl?"

"Twenty-five," I reply meekly.

I am a mere child compared to an Elf. It is embarrassing to admit my young age, especially to an Elven King.

"From where do you hail?" Thranduil asks. His tone has become increasingly demanding.

"I once lived in a small kingdom known as Brunsfarrow; it was destroyed by Orcs five years ago. The Brown Lands have been my home ever since."

The Elf nods slowly before beginning to stride down the stairs. Each step is precise and purposeful, and I grow increasingly nervous with his every footfall.

"Why did you choose to settle in that desolate wasteland?" Thranduil asks calmly. "There are plenty of other human civilizations that would have taken you in."

"Brunsfarrow was a very rural city, my lord. It was located just west of Rhun; the elements I would face if I were to journey towards a neighboring kingdom would surely kill me, if Orcs did not get to me first. The Brown Lands were the most logical choice."

"Logical, maybe, but no less dangerous," the Elf says coldly. "The Brown Lands are no place for a human…especially a girl. Many hidden dangers have begun to creep out from the shadows.

"I have a hard time believing that there is truth to your story. If you currently have been living in the Brown Lands as you claim, then how did you end up in Mirkwood?" The elven king has descended the stairs and has now come to a stop in front of me. He smells freshly of the forest, the sharp scent of pine itching at my nose.

"I don't know," I manage to whisper out, anxiety in my voice.

The Elf raises his eyebrows before leaning down until we are at eye level.

"What is your name?" he asks me. A crippling silence seems to overcome me, and I do not reply.

"She is called…" Taluharn starts, but Thranduil raises a hand to silence him. His gray eyes remain locked onto mine, unmoving and unfeeling.

"Let her speak for herself," he tells the Elven guard. Taluharn shoots a glance at me before taking a respectful step backwards. I clench my jaw before finally speaking.

"Keira," I gasp out, forcing myself to brave the King's powerful gaze. "I am Keira Whitam, daughter of Byron Whitam."

Thranduil's eyes flash with an unreadable emotion.

"Where is your father now?" he asks slowly.

"Dead."

That one, simple word seems to ease the crackling tension between me and the Elven King, and he leans back slightly.

"Was he destroyed along with the city?"

"No. He and a patrol were ambushed by an Orc pack not far from the Ash Mountains. They were all killed."

Thranduil's stare is eerily similar to Legolas's blue gaze, except it is much more intense.

"How do your injuries fair, Keira of Brunsfarrow?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Very well; my shoulder has almost fully healed."

"As I suspected." Thranduil slowly leans up until his is looking down on me once more. "I have organized for a patrol to take you to the nearest human settlement by noon of the morrow. The Brown Lands are a dark place. If you dare wish to return there, it would be the last thing you ever did. I do not intend to have your blood on my hands."

_Nearest human settlement? What?_

"I do not understand," I say, my brow furrowing,

"It has been arranged that you will be taken to a small town located northwest of the Woodland Realm. My son might have told you otherwise, but he does not yet know of what now resides in the Brown Lands."

I open my mouth to say more but am interrupted by a sharp cry.

"My King!"

I whirl around to see an Elven guard rushing up the stairs behind me. He is dressed in full battle armor, save the helmet. His breathing his heavy and labored, as if he has been running for quite some time.

It is not until he glances over at me that I discover the fear hidden beneath his amber eyes.

The Elf's next words are but a blur.

"My King, it's the dawn patrol... the noon patrol reported hearing screaming and shouting near the eastern border. When they went out to investigate, there was no sign of them. The Orcs remain unseen as well. King Thranduil, I fear that something grave has happened."

Thranduil's intense expression is replaced by one of unmasked horror, and the color vanishes from his face. Our gazes meet, and in that moment I know we are thinking the same thing.

_"Where is Legolas?"_

* * *

**WHOMP, there it is. Hope you don't have anything against cliffhangers, because there are sure to be lots of them! Feel free to leave reviews, and a big thank you to all the lovely people who have taken time to read this! **


	5. Escaped

Author's Note: Here's Chapter 5! This is the longest chapter yet, so hope you guys like it! Enjoy!

* * *

**Disclaimer: Yep, you guessed it. I do not own the Lord of the Rings or any of Tolkien's work.**

* * *

"Missing? The dawn patrol is _missing_?"

The words spew from my mouth before I can stop them. The Elven guard turns to look at me and frowns. My green eyes are ablaze as I stare back at him rebelliously.

"He…they have been gone for only a mere hour or so," I continue. "How can you be so quick to assume that?"

"As I said, several of the guards heard a far off ruckus coming from the eastern border." The Elf glances warily at the King. "In our searching, however, we found no sign of them; it must then be assumed that something has happened to drive them off course."

"And what would that 'something' be?" I ask, surprising myself with the ferocity of my tone. "Orcs? Wargs?"

"We found no tracks belonging to either race. Either we are dealing with something unknown, or the Orcs hid their trail well. Not even our best trackers could make out any sort of tread in the foliage near the location of the screams."

My hands clench into tight fists.

"For heaven's sake! You're Elves, aren't you? Isn't tracking supposed to be one of your specialties?"

"It is, but we cannot track something that does not exist." Taluharn's words startle me, and I swing my head round to look at him. The Elf's gaze is locked onto the guard standing before us.

"Harovel, you must be mistaken," he says gently. "The Prince himself told me that he would be leading his warriors north to intercept the Orc pack."

"That's not what he told me," I grumble.

Something grips hard onto my forearm. I jump slightly and avert my gaze to see Thranduil's face inches from mine. The Elf's lips nearly touch my ear when he speaks.

"What did he tell you?"

"Nothing that would concern you," I bite back, slowly shifting my head to look him in the eye.

Our gazes are fire on ice.

"Keira," he says icily "Do not test me. Tell me, what did Legolas say to you?"

Something in his tone dances along the borderline of 'irrational' and 'psychopath.' That fact in itself makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I swallow nervously before replying.

"He said that he came to bid me farewell, and that he was going to lead out a patrol to fend off an Orc pack near the eastern borders. He said that you were the one who sent him."

Thranduil's face contorts into an expression of pure rage.

"Fool!"

The Elven king turns away briskly, unintentionally giving me a mouthful of blonde hair, before angrily storming up towards his throne. Once he has reached the top of the stairs, he whips around to look at the Elven guard.

"Rally together your best warriors and go with them to scour the forest perimeter." The king's hands clench into fists as he spits out the next words "Legolas has gone to look for her."

_Her?_

My brow knits together in confusion, and both Taluharn and the other Elf—Harovel, I believe was his name—start slightly. Harovel's eyes are as wide as harvest moons when he speaks next.

"But my King, you cannot possibly be referring to…"  
"I am, Harovel," Thranduil snaps. "Now do as I say, or my son's foolish antics will most certainly mean the end of him."

The brown-haired Elf shoots a conflicted expression at the King before mumbling, "It shall be done." He then turns on heel and vanishes back down the stairwell. Thranduil lets out a sigh before sitting heavily down onto his throne. He closes his eyes and begins to rub at his temple, apparently oblivious that Taluharn and I are still here.

"My King?" Taluharn says tentatively. "If I am to be of any service to you, you need only…"

"You will go with him, Taluharn," Thranduil says suddenly, not bothering to look at him. "Harovel is young still; you have much more experience in the darker stretches of the forest than he."

"And what of Keira?"

At the mention of my name, the King opens his eyes to look at the Elf and I.

"I plan on allowing her to leave with a group of guards by midday tomorrow. I have given them orders to take her to a human settlement north of here. It is a long trek, but let it be known to you that her return to the Brown Lands would mean certain death. And though some may think otherwise, I am not so cold as to send a girl to her own demise.

"That being said, she will remain in the Palace until her leave in the morrow. Go out as soon as possible, Taluharn; there is no time to waste."

Taluharn's goodbye was short and distracted. Too short, in my opinion, being I will quite possibly not be seeing him again. The Elf has been nothing but kindness throughout my stay; I do not doubt that I will be missing his company in the days that follow my leave.

But now is not the time for such thoughts, for my mind has strayed to a more pressing matter.

Who is the mysterious 'her' figure Thranduil mentioned while he spoke to Harovel? Whoever she may be, the King suspected that she was the reason that Legolas went out with the patrol. Also, judging by the expression on the Thranduil's face, I would guess that this is not the first time something like this has happened.

_ Perhaps the King was wrong, _I think to myself as I stare up at the ceiling of my room. _Maybe Legolas was telling the truth, though even if he was, that does not make the situation any less…_

"Your head is empty, Nithron!"

The sharp cry rouses me from my thoughts, and my eyes immediately drift over to the darkened archway to my right.

"Then yours is no different, my friend, if you believe the Prince to be alive and well! Did you not know that the noon patrol heard screams coming from the eastern border?"

"It could have been the calling of the birds, for all we know." I watch with interest as two tall silhouettes come into my line of sight. They appear to have paused in front of the entrance to my quarters.

"Do you believe that the King would have sent out Taluharn and his best warriors if that was the case?" snaps one of the figures. "We must come to terms with the fact that the Prince and the remaining members of the dawn patrol might be dead."

"Do not speak such things! Of course the Prince still lives!"

"Nithron!" cries one of the Elves. "It was Prince Legolas's voice the patrol heard! They have refrained from mentioning it to the King, but they fear that he has either been gravely wounded or possibly even… killed. One of the Elves spoke of hearing pained cries of, "Where is she?" from deep within the forest. The words were Elvish and harbored the accent of the house of Thranduil."

"Surely, the Prince must have accepted her fate by now!"

"Nay." One of the Elves shakes his head solemnly. "Her body was never recovered from the battlefield. The Prince still believes her to be alive somewhere in Mirkwood. Poor lad… I fear he shall continue to believe it until his years on Middle Earth have come to an end. She captivated him in ways I cannot express."

"Captivated or not, there is a time when one has to accept the fate of another. Legolas has been sneaking out to search for her ever since the battle. I dare say that he will never be the same."

There is a brief silence before they speak once more.

"What has become of the human girl he found in the woods a few days past?" asks one of the Elves.

"I have heard that she currently resides in one of the spare rooms," replies the other. "Though I know not where. Thranduil plans on sending her away tomorrow. After all, he can't be having a mortal roaming about during dark times such as these."

The conversation slowly fades away as the two figures begin to walk once more, and in a matter of moments they have vanished down the hall.

Fear grips at my heart as the severity of their words begins to sink in. Granted, the dawn patrol might be lost… but dead? I imagine the group of Elves trekking through the quiet forest and being ambushed by Warg riders. The images that come after are graphic and disturbing, and I sit up in order to clear my thoughts.

_Relax, Keira. The Elves are not your concern, nor is Legolas._

But how could he not be? Legolas sheltered me in his kingdom; his people gave me food and healed my wounds, and this is how I am to repay them? To sit here and do nothing while they are preyed upon by whatever dark things are sure to be hunting them?

No. I have been given this choice before, and I chose to do nothing. Legolas and the Elves will not suffer like my people did in their last moments of life. I may be a woman, but I have the strength to help those in need. If the Prince were to die now, after all he has done for me, and I had done nothing to prevent it, I would never forgive myself.

I have made wrong choices before, and I do not intend to make them again.

The air is dank and stale in this section of the tunnels. The thin lantern light illuminates the dust I kick up with every footfall and I resist the impulse to sneeze. The noise would only attract attention, and that is something that I do not need at the moment.

In a few short minutes, Caladwen is sure to discover my ploy against her. She had stopped by my quarters only a few minutes earlier to deliver a tray of food. I had told her that there would be no need to check on me later, but the Elf maid had insisted upon stopping by in a quarter of an hour to retrieve the empty tray. As soon as she left, I inhaled my food before bustling out of the room and down the hall. My goal is to retrace the path Legolas and I took towards the King's courtyard.

Much to my dismay, it is nearly an impossible task. Every winding corridor seems to be identical to the last, and it is only a matter of time before I come across a guard patrolling the halls.

Legolas had been so sure of where he was going. How did he not become lost?

_He lives here, idiot, _I answer myself.

Suddenly, voices echoing down the hallway alert me, and my heart flutters with fear. I quickly dance into the shadows and, crouching down, press up against the wall beside me. My eyes widen as the voices grow louder and louder until a flickering light emerges from around the bend up ahead.

Two Elves stride into the hallway, conversing in loud whispers. One of them holds a lantern. They pause for a moment and crane their necks towards the tunnel in which I hide, and chill bumps raise on my arms.

_Please don't let them see me. Please don't let them see me._

Suddenly, a sharp cry from somewhere down the corridor grabs their attention. One of the figures barks out a command and points at the tunnel from which I came. Then they both begin to stride towards me. I bite down hard on my lip and mutter a hasty prayer as the two Elves bustle right past me.

For a long, dragging minute I remain hidden until the glow of the lantern fades away into the distance. Then I am off again, dashing down the tunnel with speed that surprises me, given my injury just a few days healed.

I had recognized the voice that cried out; it was Caladwen. She had most likely discovered that I was missing and called out for assistance.

I am out of time; I must find the courtyard now, or the Elves are sure to catch me.

My breathe comes out in wheezing gasps as I sprint from tunnel to tunnel, and I don't notice the sudden drop off until I have nearly tipped over the edge. Swallowing a shriek of terror, I stumble back several steps before looking down at the raging rapids beneath the cliff edge on which I stand. I then turn to look at the narrow bridge branching out to the right of me. Hope comes to rise in my chest when I realize that this is the exact structure that Legolas and I had crossed moments before arriving at the courtyard.

Only this time, there is no one to catch me if I fall.

"You can do this," I whisper to myself, willing my stiff legs to break into a steady jog. Sweat breaks out across my forehead as I make my way across the bridge. The water below hisses with menace, and a small gasp escapes my lips when I nearly slip on a damp patch of wood. Once I have managed to regain my footing, I lock my jaw and begin to sprint for the tunnel ahead of me.

The bridge groans beneath my footfalls, but I ignore it. My only thought is that I have to reach the other side before the Elves reach me.

Almost there, almost there…

Then, at last, I dash into the tunnel on the far wall. Darkness quickly swallows me up, and a semi-hysterical smile creeps across my lips when I catch the scent of apple blossoms. The courtyard! I nearly cry out with joy as I round a sharp corner, but my breathe hitches when I take in the sight before me.

An Elven guard stands at attention in front of the twin doors leading to the courtyard. He is adorned in Elvish armor, and a large silver spear gleams in his gloved hands. An enormous rack of swords sits on the wall beside him.

Though he seems not to notice me, the mere sight of the guard is enough to send me scurrying back several steps.

_Of course the gate would be guarded!_

How could I forget such an obvious fact? I mutter a curse at my own stupidity before placing my fingers on my temples. I have never been good in situations such as this. It requires that I remain logical under extreme stress, something I find very difficult. Think, Keira. There must be _some _way that you can…

Then it dawns on me.

A distraction! Elves are extremely sensitive to sound. If I were to lead the guard away from the doorway by making some sort of noise, I might be able to get through.

Brow furrowed, I scour the hall in attempt to find anything of use. The dimness of the tunnel is thick and heavy, but I am just barely able to make out a medium sized pebble lying a foot or so away from me. Grinning, I reach down and grab the object. The stone is surprisingly lightweight, and I just hope that it is enough to grab the Elf's attention.

Mustering up my courage, I slowly creep out from behind the corner of the wall and eye the smaller corridor to my right. Then, raising my arm, I lob the rock as hard as I can into it.

The stone clatters noisily against the walls of the tunnel, instantly alerting the Elf. His head swivels toward the sound, and I watch excitedly as he begins to stride away from the doorway. Once he disappears within the tunnel, I make my move.

Running as fast a as I can, I sprint for the doorway. It is not far, and in a matter of moments I have reached it and begun to swing open the gates. As I do so, my eyes travel to the rack of swords sitting idly on the wall to my left. If I am to meet any enemies along the way, it would be best if I were armed. Glancing over at the hallway, I tip-toe to the rack before grabbing the hilt of a particularly menacing silver blade. It slides smoothly out from its holster, and I quickly dart back to the doors. I inch the gates open just wide enough so as I am able to slip through.

Just like that, I am free.

The doors swing silently closed behind me, and I turn to look out at the courtyard. The landscape is bathed in the brilliant orange light of the setting sun. It appears that the trees are made of gold, and the flowers are jewels.

The sight of it is enough to leave me speechless, but I cannot take the time to admire it now. The guards are sure to suspect my means of escaping. In fact, it is most likely that they have already begun to head this way.

I hustle down the cobblestone pathway, warily glancing about my surroundings. The trees and bushes provide the perfect hiding spot for an Elven guard; I would not see them until they were upon me. My breathing quickens in panic at the thought of being captured. The King's wrath would be great, especially when I told him of my plan.

Shaking my head free of my wandering thoughts, I quickly turn my attention back to the path in front of me. A large row of hedges is the only thing standing between me and the forest. They contain several large gaps that would be easy enough for me to clamber through.

But as I come to a stop at their base, I realize that my task might be more complicated than I originally thought.

The tall bushes are filled to the brim with jagged black thorns the size of my forearm. Their ebony tips glisten dangerously in the sunlight, and my eyes widen with horror. There is no way I can slip through the hedge without being skewered through.

_There must be some way around it._

Suddenly, a sharp horn blast grabs my attention, and I instinctively duck down behind a nearby rose bush. As I gaze warily out into the expanse of garden, I notice movement coming from a patch in the hedge. A section of the bush begins to tremble violently before, much to my shock, dislodging from the rest of the hedge and lowering down onto the ground. That's when I discover that the back of it is lined with some sort of wood.

_A gate! _

As if on cue, a sharp whinny cuts through the air, and several large shapes come thundering in through the opening. Horses, three of them, all with speckled gray pelts. Elven riders sit atop the animals as they guide them along a pathway that winds through a magnificent overhang of red and gold vines. Two of the horses quickly disappear into the depths of foliage, but one hangs back. Its rider abruptly brings it to a halt before sliding from the saddle. The Elf lands gracefully on the ground and strides to the front of the horse. He runs a hand along the animal's nose and whispers something in its ear, though I am too far away to hear what he says. The horse shakes its pearly white mane, and the Elf gives a light laugh before patting it on the neck. He then turns from it and, striding through the overhang, vanishes after the other Elves. His horse, however, remains standing there.

A crazy idea pops into my mind as I gaze upon the animal. Clutching the sword in my hand, I spring out from my hiding place and begin to stride towards the horse. I don't dare to run; if I startle it, it will most likely call for its rider.

The gray mare swings her head round to look at me before snorting indignantly. She stamps a hoof on the ground and whinnies sharply.

"Shh!" I say in a hushed whisper, continuing to creep towards it. The animal prances in place and huffs nervously. She is not very far from me, only a few feet. Upon noticing the creature's wide-eyed look, I try to calm her.

_"Settle yourself, beast of the earth," _I say in the tongue of the Elves. _"I mean you no harm. Come now; be not afraid."_

The horse goes quiet as its ears swivel towards me. My words seem to have a desired calming effect on it, and her crystalline blue eyes blink at me curiously. I reach out my hand towards the skittish animal, and she takes a small step towards me. My fingers brush against the soft, velvety texture of her nose before sliding down onto her cheek.

_"I have need of you at the moment," _I say, gazing deeply into the horse's eyes. _"But I will return you to your rider as soon as possible."_

The creature seems to accept my terms with a low murmur, and I smile and stroke the mare's curly mane. I slide the sword into a sheath attached to her saddle then hoist myself onto the horse's back. After living many years in the rural city of Brunsfarrow, I have grown accustomed to riding. My own horse, Judo, had proved to be my faithful companion during my escape from the city. However, once we arrived in the Brown Lands, the animal disappeared one dreadfully cold night and never returned.

This elven horse is much daintier and thinner than Juno, and I am forced to hug my legs tightly to her sides to prevent myself from falling. Once seated properly, I grip the reigns tightly and have the horse turn round before ushering her back towards the gateway in the hedge. The animal rears up slightly before breaking into a canter and bounding out of the opening.

And then we are gone.

The sun had dipped down into the horizon only minutes after my escape of the courtyard. The forest is now dark with the shadows of the night. As I ride atop the Elven horse, I am beginning to miss the sun's warming rays. Frigid winds have begun to blow through the landscape and the mare has begun to wheeze in the cold air. Our breathes come out as hot puffs of steam.

We have been riding for what seems like an age. So far, there has been no sign of any Elves. It had surprised me that Thranduil would dare send Taluharn's patrol out at such a late hour, seeing as though Mirkwood is a very treacherous place after dark. But then again, here I am searching for them.

No, not them. There is only one name that preoccupies my thoughts.

"Legolas," I gasp out, my voice ragged with cold. "Where are you?" My knuckles have begun to turn white from clutching the reigns a little too tight. The wind bites into my face, stinging my eyes, and large flurries of snow have begun to obscure a good portion of my vision. The Elven horse has set her pace at a brisk canter; fast enough to make good headway, but slow enough as to let me attempt to scour the area. My sense of direction is limited due to the snowstorm, but I predict that by now we must've reached the far west corner of Mirkwood.

_Where are you, Legolas?_

Suddenly, the horse beneath me lets out a shrill scream and comes to an abrupt halt. My forehead knocks painfully into the animal's powerful neck as she rears up in alarm.

_"Settle yourself!" _I say to her.

It is only when the horse falls back onto all fours that I see the cause of her fright.

The body of a massive black Warg lies just in front of the mare's front hooves. It is partially concealed by drifts of snow, but there is no mistaking the redness of the blood that stains the ground surrounding it. The beast has been dead for quite some time, judging by the reek of the body.

After patting the horse's neck reassuringly, I scan the area and slid down from the saddle. I kneel down beside the Warg corpse and begin to dust some of the snow from its bloodied pelt. As I do so, my fingers brush across something hard and thin. Frowning, I wrap my hand around the object and tug upwards. A brief struggle ensues before I am finally able to free it from the carcass.

It is an Elven arrow.

Hope flutters inside of my chest as I finger the object, and I feel the tiniest of smiles creep across my lips. Someone, whether they be of Taluharn's patrol or Legolas's, has been this way. However, the sight of the body also means that Orcs and Wargs have been here as well.

I quickly mount the grey mare before gripping onto the reigns and directing her around the body.

"We are getting closer," I whisper to the animal. Her ears swivel slightly at my words before abruptly lying down flat against her head. A low rumble begins to emanate from her throat, and the horse's muscles tense.

_"What is it?"_ I ask her, anxiety tugging at my heart. _"What is wrong?"_ The horse begins to stumble backwards before giving a sharp whinny.

"Now!"

The howling voice comes from somewhere to my right, and as if on cue, two Orcs spring out from behind a clumpy patch of foliage. Terror courses through my veins, and I abruptly yank back on the reigns. The mare lets out a squeal before dancing backwards several steps. The Orcs each harbor a gleaming black blade, and I unsheathe my own sword with shaking fingers. Much to my dismay this is one fight that I cannot back down from. If I were to flee, they would hunt me down.

_"Do as I command, and feel no fear," _I tell the horse in Elvish.

The mare stamps the ground anxiously, then calms and shifts to battle stance. The Orcs growl before charging. I urge the horse forward and raise my sword, preparing to bear down onto them.

My sword collides with one of the Orc blades, and the velocity of my swig nearly sends the beast's weapon clattering to the round. The creature snarls as I come round for another attack. I grasp my sword tightly before aiming a vicious swipe at the other Orc's throat. It misses by mere inches and instead lobs off a large chunk of the creature's pointed ear. It howls in pain but is quickly silenced when I slam the butt of my sword into its temple, knocking it to the ground.

I am just about to finish it off when I feel a red hot pain stab into my hip. Gasping, I whip my head around to find the second Orc standing beside me; its hand harbors a jagged knife with a bloodied tip. Anger overcomes me, and in a single motion I swing my sword round and separate the beast's head from its shoulders. Its body crumples to the ground, splattering both myself and the Elven horse with foul-smelling blood.

The fight is not yet over.

The other Orc, having been spared by its companion's foolish antics, has now leaned up into a sitting position. I nudge the mare forward and place the tip of my sword on the beast's throat. The pain from my hip is fierce, and I resist the impulse to double over.

"Where are they?" I hiss at it. "What did you do to them? They came this way, did they not?"

"You can't win, human," the Orc cackles, avoiding my question. Blood bubbles from its mouth. "Even if you kill me, the forest will surely make prey of you."

"Where are they?" I repeat. "Speak, filth!" My words are laced with venom despite my anxiety. When the creature refuses to speak, I make a bargain. "If you tell me what you know, I will spare your miserable life."

The Orc grins, revealing rotten brown fangs, then throws itself on the edge of my sword and slits its own throat. Horrorstruck, I watch as the Orc writhes on the ground for a moment before going still.

It knew; I could see it in its eyes. It knew where the Elves were, and now possibly my only hope of finding them has been lost. Clutching my wounded hip, I let out a sigh of despair.

It is not until I turn the horse round that I notice the third Orc hidden beneath the shadows of the trees. The creature's lips are curled upwards into a menacing smile, and the moonlight glints off its yellowed fangs. My stomach wrenches with nausea when I look upon what it holds.

The Orc has drawn tight a stout ebony bow. Its iron-tipped arrow, glinting in the starlight, is aimed directly at me. The bow groans as the creature stretches it back even further, preparing to let the arrow fly.

The shot is never fired.

I watch in shock as a silver blade sprouts out from the Orc's throat. The object then slides smoothly back out from its body as the beast collapses to the ground. Dead.

Eyes wide, I watch as a lean figure stumbles out from behind a patch of heavy foliage. A sword is clutched in his right hand, gleaming with Orc blood, and the figure braces himself on a nearby tree trunk before turning to look at me. Long strands of white-blond hair, smeared with red, fall down his shoulders. His eyes are heavy lidded and fogged with exhaustion, but there is no mistaking the incandescent blue of his irises, nor the tone of his soft words when he speaks.

"It is not safe here."

My breath hitches in my lungs, and the sword falls from my hand.

"Legolas… you're alive."

* * *

**Well there you have it! Feel free to leave me some reviews, and thanks again for reading! :)**


	6. Found

Author's note: Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry about the long(ish) wait… life's been busy :P Anyways, I hope you all enjoy Chapter 6!

* * *

**Disclaimer: *sniffles* I don't own any of Tolkien's work. **

* * *

"Keira?"

Legolas face contorts in shock. He shudders in a cold gust of wind, and I stride forward until I am standing right in front of him. The Elf's skin is a sickly pale color, almost blending in with the snow surrounding him. His once flawless face is now decorated with various cuts and bruises, including one particular nasty slash above his right brow. My gaze then travels down to his blood-splattered hair and clothing. The fabric of the vest that adorns his shoulder is shredded until it is nearly unrecognizable as a sleeve. I gently reach out and move a strand of his blond hair away from his arm. My stomach clenches upon discovering what must be the cause of the Prince's weary appearance.

There is a broken off arrowhead embedded into the hollow of his shoulder.

"Prince Legolas, what happened?" I cry out, my mouth agape with horror. The Elf sighs and leans his head against the tree. His ice blue eyes are filled with pain.

"We were ambushed," he says lowly, closing his eyes "The Orcs were numerous. I fear that the entire patrol was… killed."

"Killed?" I gasp. "But it cannot be! Surely you are mistaken."

The Prince's chest heaves in a sigh, but even that small movement seems to pain him. An enormous shudder runs throughout the Elf's body, and his eyes roll back just as his knees buckle beneath him.

I rush forward and fling my arms around his waist to prevent him from falling. Legs trembling with effort, I manage to slowly lower both of our bodies down to the ground. The Prince's head slumps onto my shoulder, and I hug his cold form tight to my own in an attempt to keep him warm.

I gently lean my head against his, pondering what to do next. There is no way I am going to be able to get him onto the horse, much less ferry him all the way back to the Palace. We are going to have to stay here for the remainder of the night, no matter how dangerous it may be.

"Oh, come on!"

I have been trying to start a fire for nearly half an hour now, and so far I have gotten barely a spark. The sticks I managed to gather near the area are still half frozen, and the added moisture makes them nearly impossible to burn. The small pieces of flint I hold in my hands spray sparks down onto the pile whenever I hit them together, but the coals die as soon as they touch the wood.

Finally, after a frustrating struggle, I manage to set alight some of the wood shavings. My face lights up with joy, and I bend down close to the flame and begin to softly blow on it. The fire brightens and spreads with every puff of air, and in a matter of minutes the entire pile of sticks is alight.

Smiling at my success, I give a small pump in the air with my fist.

"Enjoying yourself?"

The sudden voice startles me, and I look over my shoulder to find Legolas staring at me. I had leaned him up against a tree trunk while I worked on making a fire and, having found several bundles of cloaks in the horse's saddle bag, had laid them onto his lap in an attempt to keep him somewhat warm. The Elf glances down curiously at the fabric before looking up at me. His eyebrow quirks, and my cheeks grow hot with a blush.

"Not at all, actually," I reply, turning back towards the fire in order to hide my reddening face. "Making fire is quite a taxing business."

"Is it now?" I glance over my shoulder and watch as Legolas folds his hands neatly in his lap. "I wouldn't know. Elves rarely have need of fire for means of warmth; I myself have never built one."

"Really?"

"Yes," he says. His eyes glimmer with amusement. Weariness still hazes them over, but they appear to be somewhat clearer than the last time he opened them.

Forcing myself to break his gaze, I slowly rise from my crouched position. My injured hip protests at the sharp movement, and I fail in an attempt to conceal my wince of pain. Legolas, ever watchful, catches on immediately.

"Are you wounded?" he asks tiredly.

"Hardly," I grunt, not wanting to show weakness in front of him. "My wellbeing is none of your concern; it is, after all, you who are in dire need of attention."

The Prince's features harden as I kneel down in front of him.

"Don't try denying it," I say, catching the annoyed expression that flickers across his face. "There is an arrowhead embedded in your shoulder; if the wound is not properly dressed, it will fester and then most likely kill you. It has to be taken out."

"If you are so bold as to say such things, then why don't you remove it yourself?"

I blink, surprised. Does he not think me capable enough to treat his wounds?

"Relax," Legolas soothes upon noticing my offended expression. "I will talk you through it. This is not the first time something like this has happened, if you must know." The Elf grimaces as he straightens his back against the trunk. "Now, remove my sleeve."

"I know perfectly well what to do. There is no need to treat me as if I am a child; my father taught me well on how to treat wounds. "

Legolas shoots me an irritated look that sends my heart into a nervous pitter-patter.

"Well, um…" I stammer. "At least, he _showed _me how to do so. I...what do you wish for me to use to cut off the-?"

"I don't know, Keira, perhaps something _sharp_?"

His fierce words send me scrambling back to the horse. The mare stands patiently several feet away, apparently unfazed by the bitter cold as she munches on a clump of grass. She raises her head upon noticing me running towards her and nickers quietly. I smile at her and run my fingers down the bridge of her nose. Then, turning to the saddle, I yank free the sword from the sheath.

"I shall use this," I mutter as I trudge over to him once more. The Elf's eyes widen upon seeing the lean Elven blade, and his steady gaze turns into a glower.

"Not only did you steal a horse, but a blade as well?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Thranduil's wrath will be great. It was foolish to come here. You would have been better off staying in the Palace."

"Well excuse me for coming to save your life!" I snap. "Would you rather me go back, then? Let you die, all alone, out in the wilderness?" Suddenly angered, I throw down the sword before crossing my arms over my chest. "If that is what you wish, then make it known to me now. I will be gone in an instant."

The Prince watches me with inquisitive blue eyes before sighing.

"Your head may be empty at times, but you do not seem to be the heartless type."

My lips press into a thin line. He's right. I do have a heart; or, at least, I did at one time. Long ago, I once had a kind and loving heart, but pain changes things. It seems to turn your very soul to stone.

Pain makes you stronger so that it may break you harder.

"No, I am not heartless." I bend down to pick up the hilt of the sword. "But I am as close as one can get." I glance over at the Elf to find him gazing up at me with a strangely conflicted expression.

"What?" I ask sharply, kneeling down and beginning to cut at the fabric surrounding his wound.

At first he does not respond, but then finally he states, "You are very peculiar." I roll my eyes before lobbing off the remainder of his shoulder sleeve.

"Most of the humans I have met are haughty and arrogant," he continues. "You, on the other hand, do not seem to be like that at all. The Lakemen seek only riches, and the Gondorians are consumed by greed. Were the citizens of Brunsfarrow any different?"

My sword hand falters at the mention of the city.

"No," I reply lowly, angling my gaze upward until I am looking him in the eye. "They were not. My people were just as greedy and selfish, but I had to accept them for who they were. After all, their deaths would not have brought me any less pain if they were an honorable folk. None who live on this earth, whether they are of the race of Men or Elves, could possibly deserve such a cruel fate. Only the Orcs and all who are allied with them should be slaughtered as they were." I reach forward and gently slide the dull green fabric from his arm, further exposing the horrid wound beneath. The moonlight shines down on the silver arrowhead sunken deep into his flesh. The object is hardly visible beneath a massive coating of blood and dead tissue. Bile rises up in my throat, and I fight the impulse to gag.

"A knife," I manage to choke out. "I'm going to need a knife to do this." Legolas nods his understanding before reaching back and pulling one of his white elvish blades from its sheath. He hands it to me without a word, and I grasp its hilt with trembling fingers.

_Be brave, Keira. Be brave for his sake._

"This is going to hurt. Do you want me to find you a stick to bite down on?"

"Nay, though you are kind to think of such things."

I look up at the Elf anxiously, and his blue stare is eerily calm.

"Why ever not?"

"Sometimes there is but one choice, and that is to bear with the pain," he says gently. "Now you must hurry; remove it while the moon is still high in the night sky. Its silver rays will not stay with us forever." Swallowing hard, I cast one last weary look at the Prince before locking my jaw and pressing the tip of the blade into his shoulder. I watch out of my peripheral as all remains of color  
vanish from his face, but he makes no sound.

My hand steadily guides the knife deep into the fleshy hole. A horrible scraping noise ensues as the object scraps against the arrowhead, and blood has already begun to seep out from the wound. The red liquid makes the task at hand more difficult, for it makes the Elven blade extremely slippery. One mistake could sever a vital artery and possibly kill him.

_Deftly, deftly! Remember what Father taught you!_

The knife acts as a lever as I begin to pry upwards at the arrowhead. The gray object begins to creep towards the surface with every push, and I bite down on my lip to prevent myself from grunting with effort. Legolas remains perfectly still as I work, but his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. Surely he must be in an immense amount of pain, as I am not the most skilled at the task appointed to me.

The thought somehow drives me to push down harder on the blade, and finally, after an enormous shove, the base of the arrowhead emerges from the folds in his skin. My eyes light up at my success. I gently set down Legolas's blade before grasping the thin object in between my fingers. A thick coating of blood makes the arrowhead slippery, but my short fingernails manage to hook onto the small grooves on its sides.

After a grueling few seconds of tugging on the stubborn object, I nearly cry out with relief when it slips free from the Elf's shoulder and falls into my palm. I look down at the object, and my stomach twists upon noticing the minuscule barbs that line each of its sides. Those were the reason that it was so hard to pull out.

"It's out," I say to Legolas, lobbing the bloodied object deep into the forest. The Elf's eyes remained closed for a moment for before slowly fluttering open.

My heart pangs when I notice the glistening tears swimming in their blue depths.

"Prince Legolas." My voice is as soft as silk as I choke back a sob. Something strange comes to rise within my being; an emotion unlike anything I have felt before. Guilt, maybe? No, it can't be. I know what guilt feels like; this is something entirely different. To intentionally cause someone so great a pain, even though it must be done to preserve their life… it is simply unbearable.

"I…forgive me." With that I get to my feet and begin to head back towards the horse for more supplies.

A strong hand clamps around my wrist and stops me in my tracks. I look back over my shoulder to find the Elf's blue eyes boring into mine.

"There is nothing to forgive," he says strongly. "You did what was needed of you, and for that I am grateful." The corner of his lip tugs upward as he attempts a smile. I cannot bring myself to return it and instead continue to gaze down at him sadly.

"Thank you, Prince. For saving me that day. I hate that this is the way I have to repay you."

"Saving a life does not require thanks," he replies gently. "It was merely a good dead, and such actions do not ask for anything in return."

His eyes glitter in the starlight, and my lips curl into smile.

Nearly half an hour passes before I have finished treating the Prince's wounds. I had used the fabric from his sleeve to act as a temporary wrap to shield his injured shoulder from the biting wind. The Elf has held out well during the process, though his face is still bare of color.

"I am nearly through," I tell him, gently dabbing at a large cut on his forehead with a bundle of cloth. "Afterwards, it might be best that you attempt at trying to sleep. Your body needs rest to recover."

"Elves do not require the same type of rest as mortals do," Legolas says simply. "My body will heal just as quickly while I am awake."

I lean back in order to shoot him a look.

"If you refer to the term 'mortal' once more, I fear that I shall be moved to slap you. It is very demoralizing, if you must know."

"My apologies," the Elf says. "I meant you no ill will."

"I know," I say lightly, casting a mischievous glance at him as I return to blotting his wound. "I just wanted to hear what your reaction would be."

Legolas gives a small roll of his eyes before muttering something under his breathe.

"What was that?" I ask pointedly. "Something you wish to say?"

"Not at all; I was simply marveling over your strange sense of humor."

I snort before balling the rag up in my hand and setting it on the ground beside me. Looking back, I find that the fire is still burning brightly. Its fiery tendrils lick into the cold night's air, hissing and spitting. For a moment I become mesmerized by the flames before turning to look at Legolas.

"It would be best if you rested," I tell him. "I'll keep watch while you sleep."

The Elf opens his mouth as if to protest, but I raise up a hand to stop him.

"Even if you were to keep watch, you would be of little help to me in your state. I am capable of defending myself."

"I am not sure I believe you," Legolas says softly. He glances down at my torso, and I follow his gaze until I am looking upon my bleeding hip.

"It is merely a scratch," I say.

"I have never known a 'scratch' to bleed so profusely."

"Honestly, Prince!" I cry, eyes widening in an effort to make my point. "I am fine." The Elf continues to look at me but makes to further comment. Sighing, I manage to heave myself an inch closer to the fire before wrapping my arms around my knees. My back to the troublesome Elf, I look out at the dark forest surrounding me. There is not a single sound emanating from its black depths. The creatures must have all fallen into slumber by now.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to be able to sleep right now.

The warmth of the fire proves to be not so much a comfort as it is a temptation. Its heat seems to lull my exhausted being into a sort of trace, and it is all I can do to keep my eyelids from sagging. My muscles feel like jelly, as if my body might collapse in on itself at any moment.

If only the fire was warm enough to thaw out the icy wasteland inside my soul.

I shudder as a particularly fierce gust of wind howls through the forest. The fire dims down severely before, much to my horror, dispersing into the frigid air.

"No!" I cry out, and my arms fall from my knees.

_This cannot be happening. Not right now._

Tears threaten to spill over onto my cheeks, but I fight them back with all I have left in me. As my father always told me, weeping was for the weak of heart.

But right now, I am one of those people.

Curling up into a tight ball, I tug my thin Elvish garments tight to me. It was stupid not to dress in anything warmer, but I had not planned on being put in this position to start with. My teeth chatter together as I force my stinging eyes to stay open, praying that, somehow, Legolas and I might make it through the…

"Keira."

Legolas's voice catches me completely off guard, and I jump slightly. I use my arms to push myself into a sitting position before turning to look at him.

"What?" I ask, hugging my arms tight to my chest.

"Come here."

I frown before dragging myself over next to him.

"Is something wrong?" I inquire, looking over at his shoulder.

"Yes," he says, a hint of annoyance tinging his words. "You are being a fool, though if you plan on freezing to death, you are off to a most wonderful start."

"Well how else am I supposed to keep warm?" I cry. "The fire's gone out, and there is no way I'm going to be able to…" My voice falters upon noticing the look the Elf gives me. Blinking with surprise at his strange expression, my vision slowly moves downward until I find myself staring at the multiple cloaks adorning the Prince's lap. He can't be wanting me to take one, being he needs them more than I do, and that leaves only one other option…

_Oh no, _I think, eyes bugging. _He cannot possibly be suggesting that I…_

"Keira!" he barks, and I glance nervously up at him. His eyes seem to glow cobalt, matching with the steely tone of his voice.

Of course, the Prince is right. I probably would get frostbitten and die if I carried on with my original plan, but the mere thought of the latter option sends my fragile nerves into a tizzy.

"I…uh, do you mean that—um—you want me to…"

"Yes, Keira," he states, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Actually, it is in a way, although my human mind cannot quite seem to compute the fact.

Slowly, I begin to inch closer towards the Elf. I force my eyes to brave his hard stare and, not wanting to make the situation any more awkward than it already is, decide to get it over with and slide up next to him. Our arms press tightly together as I lean against him, and Legolas offers me one of the cloaks. I take it gratefully before spreading it across my lap. Between the Elf's body heat and the warmth of the cloak, all traces of cold seem to disappear from my body.

"Rest now," Legolas says blandly. "No Orc would dare enter these parts during a snowstorm. There is no need to keep watch." I nod to him before gently tipping my head back against the bark. A sigh of contentment escapes my lungs before I can stop it, but Legolas seems not to notice. The Elf's eyes are closed, his features soft, and if I did not know better I would think him to already be asleep. I watch him for a moment before, much to my own surprise, I speak.

"Thank you, Legolas," I say softly. One of the Elf's eyes opens into a thin slit.

"Whatever for?" he asks lowly. Our bodies are so close together that I can feel the vibrations of his words.

"For everything. If it weren't for you, I would be dead."

"As would I if you had not come looking for me." His eyebrows raise up. "Why, in fact, did you come after me, Keira of Brunsfarrow? I am most certain that you ventured out here against my father's will, did you not?"

"Yes," I reply meekly, gazing out into the depths of the forest. "I heard some of the guards talking outside of my quarters. They spoke of hearing a ruckus near the eastern border, yet the search party found no sign of the dawn patrol…" I glance up at Legolas, my pale green gaze meeting with his. "Tell me the truth, Legolas; who is she, and why did you go after her?"

At the mention of the word 'she', the Prince's body tenses up. His eyes flash with an unreadable emotion, and he sets his jaw purposefully.

"That is none of your concern, nor shall it ever be."

The tone in which he talks is similar in many ways to the one used by his father, Thranduil, and just as imposing. But I cannot back down now; not when I have already brought up the subject.

"Legolas," I say. "You can tell me; I shall make no mention of it to anyone."

The Prince sighs heavily, and a pained expression flickers across his face. I take that as an answer and press him no longer.

"Well, if you will not tell me that, than at least explain how you knew my father? If I recall correctly, you gave me your word that you would tell me."

Legolas turn his head until he is facing me directly.

"If _I _recall, you had been instructed to rest." The Elf's hot breath smells of mint as he speaks, contrasting the dull, woody scent of the forest around us.

"I am not a youth as to be instructed when to sleep," I counter. "But I might be at peace enough to do so if you but answered my question." The Elf shakes his head in irritation before looking ahead once more.

"Many years ago, your father was cornered by an Orc pack near the borders of Mirkwood. He had but one choice, and that was to flee into the forest. Back then, the woods were a dark place, much more dangerous than they are now, for there was a great evil inhabiting the fortress of Dol Guldur. The Dark Lord himself had taken residence in the crumbling structure and had a great number of Orcs patrolling the Woodland Realm.

"Byron fled deep into Mirkwood, but the Orc pack was relentless. It was by sheer luck that my patrol found him, or he would have most likely been killed. We helped Byron defeat the foul beasts and, upon his request, escorted him back to the boundaries of the forest. He wanted to know more about our race, though there was not much that we could tell him. To give out too much information would be a risk that none of us were willing to take."

Legolas pauses to catch a breath, and I take a moment to ponder over his words. How strange that I am hearing this story not from my father, but from the very Elf that saved his life.

"And… what of his death?" I ask with a heavy heart. "How did you see him die, Legolas?"

"My father had sent me and several other Elves to investigate reports of a large amassing of Orcs in the forbidding land of Mordor. We witnessed a group of men trailing a herd of deer towards the Ash Mountains, and it was only shortly after when the Orcs come upon them." The Elf's next words are barely a whisper. "The fight, if one would dare to call it that, was over in moments. There was nothing to be done."

We sit in a tense silence that seems to last for an age. His words relieve an enormous amount of pressure that has been weighing down on me, but at the same time open up new wounds. My father had never told me about his meetings with Legolas, or any of the wood-elves for that matter. Why?

That is something I shall never know.

"Thank you for telling me," I whisper to the Prince. The Elf, however, appears to have already fallen asleep. His breathing is heavy and even, and I find myself observing the way his chest rises and falls with every breath. He looks so different from the Elf I am used to knowing; so peaceful and serene and not at all imposing.

_Perhaps you might look like that one day, _I think to myself as I close my eyes. _When all is said and done. _

I am on the verge of slumber when I hear it. The low, hollow sound that is clearly distinctive from the screaming of the wind. It echoes through the landscape, moving a flock of blackbirds to flee from the tree in which they are perched, cawing with alarm. My eyes flutter open, and I feel my fingers inch towards the sword lying on the ground beside me. The dark of the night and flurries of snow prohibit me from seeing more than a foot in front of me, but there is no mistaking the two globular yellow eyes that shine out from admist the shadows.

"What have we here?" drawls a deep, ragged voice. "I have not seen a human in these parts for many years, especially one so… familiar." The eyes narrow slightly, and I watch as a glittering fanged smile spreads out from beneath them.

I recognize that face.

The beast cackles, and its next words send daggers of fear stabbing into my heart.

"Keira of Brunsfarrow; alas, we meet again."

* * *

**CLIFFHANGER! *insert suspenseful music here* A big thank you to all who have read or are currently reading my story, and feel free to review! I love hearing from you all! :) **


	7. Encounter

**Author's note**: I'm back! :) Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

* * *

_No. This is not possible. He… _it _cannot be here; not now, not ever!_

"Carca." The name tastes as vile as poison as it slides over my tongue.

The flurries of snow subside a little, just enough so that I am able to take in the beast's stormy silhouette. His watchful yellow eyes observe me for a moment before traveling down to gaze upon the form of Legolas lying beside me.

"Oh, how lovely," says the creature. "I see that you've made friends with one of the Wood-elves." His black nose wrinkles as if having smelt something unpleasant. "His life force is dim; what a shame it would be if he were to die from his injuries."

I swipe at the beast with my sword, but he bounds back before the blade can make contact. Carca's eyes glint savagely, and anger comes to rise within me.

"So this is how you want to play?" The creature chuckles, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. "Foolish girl; to turn on such an old and… _powerful _acquaintance is most unwise." My heart pounds at a rapid pace, and suddenly I feel lightheaded.

_Do not fear, Keira._ _He will only sense it as weakness._

"It is you who are the foolish one, beast. My skills with the sword may not be the finest, but I know well enough how to slit a Black Wolf's throat."

"Do you now? How very interesting."

"Silence!" I hiss. Slowly, I pull the cloak off of my lap and lift myself into a standing position. I extend the sword out towards the massive wolf, and he eyes it warily.

"Go now if you value the breath in your lungs, for I hold the power to take it from you."

"Feisty one, you are," Carca purrs. "Your father was just like you. It is a shame that he had to be taken from you, and at so young an age." The beast's eyes glint with malice. "He could have lived many more years if not for that… unfortunate series of events."

"I'm not as dumb as you may think, Carca. I know that it was you who informed the Orcs of Byron's leave of the city."

"Me?" Carca actually looks wounded. "How could you possibly believe such a thing? I tried to warn him against going on that hunt, but he did not listen to me. Your father betrayed my trust and threatened to kill me if I dared to stop him."

My jaw locks in anger. "You value your own life too much to risk being slain on such a dangerous expedition. Do not speak of my father in such ways, for he was braver than you could ever be. You did not know him as I did."

The creature smiles widely.

"Oh, I _did _know him, Keira of Brunsfarrow." Carca's next words are scarcely above a whisper. "I knew him well enough to have the good sense to kill you. His lineage must not be allowed to persevere in the form of his one, ignorant child. You must not be allowed to grow into the murderer that he became."

"My father was no murderer," I say. "He simply did what was right to protect our people."

Carca's black muzzle wrinkles in irritation.

"Your father killed all that was left of my race," he snarls.

"Only in self-defense," I retort. "It was you who broke the agreement between our peoples. Both our races lived in peace before you came along. You were the one who authorized the raids on our city; you were the one who condemned your kin to death."

Carca's eyes narrow into menacing golden slits, and his fangs bare as he speaks.

"My pack was half-starved; we all were driven mad with hunger."

"Mad enough that your raiding party killed two of our guards!" I snap. "You were smart enough to learn our language, Carca; perhaps if you had instead tried to negotiate with our leaders, things might have gone differently."

The wolf roars in anger before lunging forward. I grasp the hilt of the sword with both hands, preparing to sink the blade deep into the beast's chest.

Carca seems to realize his mistake and manages to change direction midair. He raises up a paw and swipes it into my hands, knocking the blade from my grasp. The sword skids across the ground before coming to rest several feet away. The wolf grins with malice before glancing over at the still form of the Elf.

"Touch him and I swear you shall never move again!" I cry, and Carca chuckles.

"A bold statement, but bravery cannot save him now."

I try to make a move for the sword, but my legs appear to be frozen in place. No matter how hard I try, my limbs will not respond.

"Prince!" I cry. "Wake up!"

The Elf does not wake, and horror sweeps over me as Carca's lips curl into a smile.

"Prince?" he drawls. "So this is the heir to the famed Elven king of Mirkwood?" His eyes glitter as he gazes down at Legolas's unmoving body, and my very blood seems to turn to ice in my veins.

"I always liked the taste of royal blood."

And with that he sinks his fangs into the Elf's neck.

"_No!_"

My eyes fly open, stinging from the icy tears that have begun to drip down from my lashes. Blinking rapidly, I let out a small gasp when I see the fair face only inches from mine.

"Do not fear, Keira. It was only a dream, nothing more."

_Legolas! He's alive!_

"Legolas?" I say, my voice ragged. The Elf gives a small smile.

"I would hope so," he replies. Then, upon noticing my frantic expression, his brow furrows. "There is no need to be afraid. Whatever troubled your sleep is gone now."

"I know," I say quietly. "I know. It just felt… so real."

"But it is not." The Prince's face is soft in the golden light of dawn. The sun has just barely begun to creep through the treetops, its pale rays being a welcome change from the cold light of the moon.

"The sun has risen," I say softly. The Elf nods before rising up from his crouched position. My eyes catch onto a patch of dark red staining the bandage on his shoulder, and I immediately feel sick.

_Has the wound become infected? Should I have tended to it more during the night?_

"I am fine," Legolas states, as if reading my thoughts. "My shoulder has already begun to heal. There is nothing to worry about." There is something in his tone that makes me think otherwise, and I raise an eyebrow. The Prince returns the movement, his blue eyes bright with interest.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

I make to reply. Instead, I push one arm against the trunk of the tree and manage to get to my feet. My back is stiff and sore from having been propped up against the tree, and it is a relief to be standing once more.

But amidst the relief, an aching pain has slowly begun to give rise from my hip. It is not agonizing by any means, but I have to turn my face away in order to hide a grimace. The sword wound from the day before had completely slipped my mind until now.

_It is just a scratch; nothing to worry about, _I assure myself, but that does not take away the dread growing in the pit of my stomach.

What if it's not?

I shake my head clear of the thought before turning back to look at Legolas.

The intensity of the Elf's stare makes me feel strangely hollow, almost as if he can see straight through me. Like I am made of glass instead of flesh and blood. An open window with all its secrets exposed to the dirty, groping hands of the world.

That thought in itself is enough to make me feel slightly ill.

"What are you hiding from me?" Legolas asks slowly. He narrows his eyes, the sunlight glinting off of his golden blonde hair. "Something is wrong; I can sense it in your demeanor."

I open my mouth to respond but am stopped when I see the look in his eye.

_No matter what I say, he'll just think that it's a lie._

Having considered that, I instead decide to shrug off the question entirely.

"When do you suggest that we head for the Palace?" I ask him. "Your father is very worried about you. We best not leave him in such a state for too long."

"My father is the least of my concerns," he says. His voice his soft, but I can detect the thinnest traces of annoyance threaded within his words.

"Five of my kin were with me during the Orc attack; they were driven deep into the forest by the foul beasts. I will not leave knowing that they could still be alive."

"You are being irrational," I say gently. "The King sent out Taluharn and his best warriors to look for you and your patrol. They will find them; there is no need for us to also go…"

"Us?"

The Elf's features sharpen. "No, there is not an 'us.' You will take the horse and go back to the Palace; I, in turn, will remain here to search for the others. I am skilled at tracking; it will not take me long to find them."

"But you are injured, Legolas! If more Orcs were to come, you would not be able to properly defend yourself. Listen to me, Prince, you must…"

Legolas shoots me a seething look, and I recoil with a frown.

"The King had scheduled for you to leave this afternoon, and he is right; the Woodland Realm is no place for a mortal girl, especially one with such a… fragile past."

His words drag along my body like sharpened knifes, carving bloody trails into my skin.

_Fragile? FRAGILE?_

Eyes flashing with anger, I take a step forward and rise up onto my toes so that we stand level with each other. His sapphire eyes flash dangerously as I thrust my face up close to his.

"Forgive me, _Prince_," I snap spitefully. "It appears that my expectations for you were too high. I thought that the Elves were supposed to be a caring people, but it seems to me that the only respectable ones are in fairytales." Our breaths mingle in the air as I hiss out my next words. "Perhaps it _would _be best if I left, if only to be free of your race altogether." I turn from him and give a sharp whistle to the grey mare. The horse perks up her ears before trotting over to me. I grab hold of her reigns before looking back at the Elf.

"Goodbye, Legolas," I say, giving the Prince a particularly scathing look before mounting the Elven horse. My hip protests as I do so, but the anger seems to numb it somewhat as I turn the horse round.

_"Go forth with the speed of the wind," _I tell the animal in Elvish. _"We make for the Palace, where your true master is sure to await you." _My grip tightens on the reigns, preparing for the horse to gallop off into the forest. But, much to my shock, the mare does nothing. Frowning, I bend down close to her head.

_"I'm not sure you heard me correctly; I said 'go forth.'"_

The horse still does not budge, and I blink with surprise.

"Well now you've gone and done it, Keira," I mutter under my breath. "You've broken your own horse." My legs squeeze tighter onto the mare's sides, hoping to urge her forward, but to no avail. I sigh and allow my shoulders to slump forward.

So much for my dramatic exit.

"Keira."

The tone of Legolas's voice sounds annoyed, though he seems to have attempted to mask it. I roll my eyes before looking back over my shoulder.

"Yes, Legolas?"

"Gwestiel was raised by the Elves. Do you really expect her to listen to you?"

"She did the first time."

"Maybe, but she would not dare decline the command of her Prince."

I snort and look down at the horse.

"Do you hear that? He thinks you'd rather listen to him! What a ridiculous…" I trail off upon noticing the odd glint in Gwestiel's eyes. It almost looks like she's…

The horse gives out a high-pitched whinny before abruptly rearing up onto her hind legs. I shriek as my numb fingers lose their grip on the reigns, and I tumble sideways off of the animal's back. My body hits the ground with a dull thud, and I gasp as all the breath is knocked out of my lungs.

After spending a few seconds gulping in air, I roll onto me side to look at Legolas. The Elf's innocent expression is betrayed by the redness flushing his cheeks.

"You told her to do that, didn't you?" I wheeze out. The Prince's lips twitch as he replies.

"I sensed that things were getting out of hand. Gwestiel did, as well."

For a moment we stare daggers into each other before, somewhat abruptly, Legolas begins to laugh. It is an odd thing, being I have not heard the sound of true laughter for quite some time.

I like it.

"You… are the dirtiest rat of a Prince that I have ever met," I say, my lips spreading wide in a grin. I scoop up a handful of snow and pelt it at the Elf. The clump of snow collides with the side of his face, and I gasp in mock horror. Legolas goes still for a moment before slowly turning his head towards me.

There is a smile on his face.

"And you are the strangest person I have ever had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with."

The Elf strides over to me before extending out a hand. Glaring up at him, I reluctantly take it and allow him to hoist me to my feet. I dust the snow off myself before crossing my arms over my chest.

The Elf perks his eyebrows before a more serious emotion seems to overtake him, and his features harden.

"I now realize that the things I said might not have been the most considerate when it comes to your feelings, and for that I am sorry. I did not mean to…" The Elf fishes for something to say. "…wound your emotions."

I snort. "You didn't mean to 'wound my emotions'?" I shake my head. "Well, at least you attempted an apology."

"In all seriousness, Keira. I meant you no ill will."

Looking up at him, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

"I know," I say softly. "In fact, it is I who should be apologizing to you. It was wrong to call you down in such a manner."

Legolas's gaze ensnares mine for a long moment before he speaks once more.

"I believe that we can consider ourselves even," he says finally. "Now, if you would like to be on your way, I will grant Gwestiel permission to carry you to the Palace."

"Thank you for the offer, but there is no way that I am leaving you…_ again_." I add. "Even if you had allowed the horse carry me off, I would've come back eventually. You've gotten yourself into enough trouble as it is. If you choose to stay here, then I will as well."

The Elf opens his mouth to protest but then closes it with an audible snap.

"I would try to persuade you out of your decision," he says. "But I know that my efforts would only be in vain. You may stay here at your own risk, but be warned that we may face more dangers in the hours to come."

"Since when have I allowed the prospect of danger to stop me?"

Legolas smiles.

"Never."

I am not skilled with the bow. No, scratch that, I am absolutely _wretched _at anything vaguely similar to archery. The only reason that I caught any prey back in the Brown Lands was by setting snares.

_Stop demoralizing yourself. It's not like you can use the sword!_

My feet hardly make a sound as I creep through the snowy forest, Legolas's bow in hand. His quiver is strapped tightly across my back, filled to the brim with feathered Elvish arrows. I had refused to let him hunt, claiming that he still needed to rest. Legolas has insisted that I take his bow. I could not refuse him, being I had no supplies to set any snares.

And that is how I ended up all alone in the forest, searching for anything moving.

A low scratching sound grabs my attention, and I quickly drop down into a crouch. Glancing around, my eyes catch onto the furry shape scuffling through the foliage several feet in front of me. It is a wild rabbit. My mouth waters at the prospect of food, and I reach back and pull an arrow from the quiver. Knocking it as quietly as possible, the bow's wooden body bends as I pull back on the string. The white feathers brush against my cheek as I draw back the weapon. The steely tip is aimed just below the hare's paws. Exhaling deeply, I allow the arrow to fly.

The object whizzes through the air before colliding with clump of brambles that lie beside the creature. The animal perks its ears and raises onto its hind legs, scanning the are for danger. It still doesn't see me.

Muttering a string of curses, I reach back and pull out another arrow. Knocking it, I aim slightly to the left of the animal before taking the shot. This time, the arrow thuds into the shoulder of the unfortunate rabbit. The creature is felled where it stands, and I smile at my success.

_I hit it. I actually hit it!_

My whole being seems to glow with pride as I rush forward to claim my prize. I pull the arrow from its side and wipe the bloodied tip onto the snow.

"Sorry little guy," I mutter. "But we've got to have something eat." Its glassy marble eyes gaze back at me, open yet unseeing. Grimacing at the sight, I pick up the rabbit by its hind legs and begin to make the long trek back to where I left Legolas.

"I got a rabbit," I say upon reaching him. The Prince is currently leaning up against a tree, eyes closed in meditation. My words appear to have fallen on deaf ears.

"Legolas?"

"Shh," he tells me. Legolas appears to be listening to something, and when his eyes open, they are filled with worry.

"The trees speak of dark things," he whispers through pale lips. "Dark forces moves close; it is not long before they will be upon us."

I toss the rabbit at his feet, and the Elf glances down at it absentmindedly.

"Legolas, you need to eat," I say, my tone low and serious. "You need to keep up your strength."

He perks his eyebrows before waving me off. "Take the rabbit for yourself. I do not eat meat."

"You don't eat meat?" I cry. "Then what was the point in my going to hunt?"

"Do not forget that you yourself need to eat as well. You worry over me to much; I am not some child that is to be looked after. I am capable of fending for myself."

My lips turn down in an annoyed grimace.

"Who said I was worried?" I retort. "Now toss me a knife; I'm hungry."

In less than half an hour I have cleaned the rabbit and am roasting bits of meat over a crackling fire. The wind seems to have calmed during the early morning hours, making my job of keeping the flames alight just a little bit easier.

"So," I begin, attempting to make conversation with Legolas. The Elf has been standing beside me for a few moments, leaning back against the tree as he looks out into the forest.

"Where exactly do you plan on looking for the patrol?"

"Several miles to the south," says the Elf. "That is where we first came upon the Orcs. I shall interrogate the first beast I find. Orcs are dumb creatures, easily fooled by the prospect of being spared from death. It will tell us what is asked of it."

I sigh as I twiddle a skewered piece of rabbit meat. The orange flames lick at its sides, filling the air with the divine aroma of freshly cooked meat.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," I tell the Elf. "What if we ourselves are ambushed? What then?"

"That will not happen," Legolas says, and I look up at him. "I am no longer distracted by the matters that once concerned me." The guarded look in his eyes surprises me, and I frown.

"And what would those matters be?"

Legolas lets out a heavy sigh. Snowflakes fall daintily onto his golden head, forming a crown of white. It makes him look strangely serene, like he is not just a part of the forest, but one with it.

It is a beautiful thing.

"Forget I said that," I tell him quickly. The Elf looks down at me, surprised, and a brief smile flickers over his face.

"The past does not matter now, does it?" he says gently. "I have dwelt in it for far too long. It is time that I move on."

Legolas closes his eyes and looks away, but not fast enough. He tried to mask it, but there is no concealing the tear that slips silently down his cheek. The Elf tries to blink away the pain of loss, but I know that he will not succeed. He never will.

My heart gives a little pang, remembering the time when I looked the same way. Slowly, I set down the meat before rising to my feet.

"You are not alone," I whisper to him. My hand travels up to rest on his shoulder, a comforting gesture, and the Prince turns to look at me. The tear's trail snakes down his cheek and glimmers in the sunlight. His eyes are downcast with sorrow.

"I know how you feel," I say. "You can't cope with it, Legolas. No one can. You just have to learn to move on."

The Prince closes his eyes as more tears threaten to escape from them. My heart yearns to take the pain away from him, but I know that this loss is something that he must cope with on his own.

"I don't understand why horrible things happen, but I believe they happen for a reason. That something, or someone, is trying to tell us something." Slowly, I reach up and dry his tear with my sleeve. "Do you ever think that? That we were put here on this earth for a greater purpose than to just live?" His irises sparkle. We are so close now that I can feel his heartbeat along with my own. Then, much to my own surprise, I find myself leaning in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. It is a quick and subtle thing, hardly lasting for more than a second, but its effect on Legolas is obvious.

The Prince's eyes fly open and ensnare my gaze almost immediately. Normally, I would find myself blushing, but somehow I feel that there is nothing to be embarrassed of. Legolas's lips are parted slightly in his shock, and he seems a bit taken aback.

_Have I angered him?_

We stare at each other for a long moment, neither one of us sure of what to say or to do. The Elf's eyes speak to me enough to compensate for his lack of words, though I know not what they mean to say. Whether the Prince is angry or gratefully remains a mystery.

After what feels like an age of silence, Legolas blinks several times before speaking up.

"It is nearing midday," the Elf states suddenly, glancing up to the sky. "We will have to move soon if we are to make good headway."

_Did he hear anything I just said? Do my words mean nothing to him?_

"I agree," I say, pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind. The Elf looks as if he wishes to say more, but instead sighs and leans back against the tree. My hand slips from his shoulder and falls limply to my side.

_You shouldn't have done that, Keira. Who knows what he might think._

A kiss on the cheek was meant only to be a comforting thing, no different from placing my hand on his shoulder. But the Wood-elves are different than the race of which I am familiar. They may not be as welcoming to such gestures.

I find myself looking back at Legolas, hoping to find some sort of emotion in his fair features. Something to tell me what in the world is going through his mind. Instead I find nothing. The Prince does not return my gaze as he stares out into the forest. Unmoving and apparently unfeeling.

I have offended him; what other reason can there be for the Elf's behavior?

The realization leaves me feeling strangely empty, and I am about to turn back to the fire when a pain, far more intense than before, stabs outward from my hip. This time, there is no hiding the agonized expression that flickers across my face. I give a sharp cry before crumpling to my knees.

Legolas is beside me in an instant. I can hear him talking to me, but the words are muffled by the horrible ringing in my ears. A strange numbing sensation washes over my body, followed by another spasm of pain. Groaning, I feel my head lull to the side before I slump over onto the ground. A hand grabs onto my arm, followed closely by another slipping around my neck.

_"Keira, hear me."_

The words are soft, spoken in the language of the Sindarin Elves. Why does he speak in Elvish when he does not yet know that I can understand it? My eyes manage to swim into focus, if only to take in the face hovering above mine.

"Legolas, my…hip. The Orc…sword…" I choke on my own words as a thick, wet substance begins to give rise in my throat. Blood.

The Elf's eyes widen in horror upon noticing the red liquid dribbling out from the corners of my mouth. I feel his hand slip from my neck before drifting down to hover above my injured hip. One of his fingers slides smoothly across the wound, and I gasp with pain. A dark black substance rubs off onto his fingertips, stinking in the fresh morning air. Legolas looks down at his hand before turning to me with horrorstruck eyes. He whispers a single word, so soft that it is barely discernible from the whistling of the wind.

"Poison."

* * *

**Yippee! Another cliffhanger to torture you all with! *evil laughter* And there's sure to be more were this came from… *eviler evil laughter* OH! and before I forget, the mysterious 'her' character that I keep referring to WILL BE REVEALED in later chapters. So no worries! All will be explained in time :)**

**Feel free to review, and thanks for reading! **


	8. Poisoned

_Author's note: I'm back again! Hope you all enjoy the new chapter! _

* * *

"P—poison?"

The Elf makes no reply but instead gathers my limp form in his arms. I cry out as another wave of pain spreads out from the sword wound, and my head lulls onto his shoulder. My eyes squeeze shut as tears threaten to spill out onto my cheeks.

"Keira, hear me now. You must remain awake. To fall asleep now would guarantee your death."

"What?" I ask, eyes fluttering open. My voice sounds wet as blood bubbles out from the corners of my mouth. My mind may be fogged by the toxins that harbor in my veins, but the prospect of dying is enough to make me hyperventilate. "I'm going to…"

"Shh," he says, silencing me with a finger to my lips. "Do not speak and do not move. That will only make the poison spread faster." The softness of his tone calms me, and I manage to even out my erratic breathing. The Elf glances out into the forest, an expression of anxiety crossing his features.

"We most go back to the Palace," he whispers, almost as if he were talking to himself. Legolas closes his eyes for a brief moment before letting out a strained sigh. He manages to get to his feet and, clutching my body tight to his chest, gives a sharp command to Gwestiel. The horse whinnies in response before quickly cantering over to him. Legolas mumbles soothing words in the mare's ear before lifting me onto her back. My hip screams out in protest, and it is all I can do to contain a moan.

The Prince then hoists himself up onto the saddle behind me.

"Lean back," he says. I obey without protest and allow my back to slump against him. Legolas drapes one arm loosely around my waist before reaching forward and grabbing hold of the reigns with the other. My eyes widen with fear and pain as the Elf shouts out a loud command to the horse.

"Noro lim!"

And with that we ride.

* * *

Pain. Burning, aching pain. I am screaming, but no sound escapes my throat. Never could I have imagined what it would be like to be poisoned. It is the most painful thing I have ever experienced, exceeding even the massive wolf bite I took to the shoulder several years past. I feel as though my body is burning itself alive from the inside out.

_Will it never end? _I think to myself as the forest blurs past. The Elven horse, Gwestiel, thunders across the uneven terrain with Legolas and me atop her. She pauses not even for the sake of breath and has begun to wheeze viciously in the chilled air. Yet she continues to push on.

As do I.

_We can make it, Gwestiel. We can make it..._

"Are you awake, Keira?"

Legolas's tone is urgent. He has taken up to asking me the same question every minute, and for that I am grateful. If it were not for him, I would have most likely found myself dozing off.

"Yes," I say softly, just loud enough that I am able to be heard, for it hurts even to speak. The Elf seems to catch onto the pain in my voice, and his arm tightens around my waist as Gwestiel leaps over a particularly large fallen log.

As soon as the horse's hooves meet the ground, a horrible scream explodes from her lungs. She jerks to an abrupt halt and rears up, nearly throwing us off. Pain from my hip explodes like a chemical reaction, and I let out a hollow wail. The Elf stiffens at the noise, but both he and the horse seem to have sensed something that I do not. Legolas slides his arm from my waist in order to draw his bow. He has nocked an arrow before I have a chance to question his motives.

Then, suddenly, I understand. My gaze locks onto a pair of glittering eyes looking out from the forest several feet ahead of us. I place them almost immediately.

They belong to a Warg.

Legolas exhales deeply before allowing his arrow to fly. It whizzes past my ear and finds its mark right in between the creature's gleaming eyes. The Warg lets out a yowl before stumbling back several steps and eventually toppling over. Another, much uglier shape is thrown roughly from its back in the process. An Orc.

"Legolas," I wheeze. "There's a…"

I don't see the need to finish my sentence, for Legolas has just as quickly strung another arrow and sent it thudding into the foul beast's chest.

"Scouts," he says, his words dripping with annoyance and anger. "Forth!" he commands Gwestiel, and the horse lunges forward once more.

"I fear that they will not be alone, and I require both my hands in order to use the bow. Take hold of the reigns."

I nod stiffly and allow Legolas to slip them into my own hands. My fingers curl around the reigns in order to prevent them from slipping out of my sweaty palms.

"As long as I have breath within me, no more harm will come to you," the Elf tells me strongly. I crane my neck up to look him in the eye and find that he is staring down at me. A smile flickers across my lips, though it does not quite reach my eyes.

"I do not know if you can promise that," I say, blinking softly. A convulsion rocks my body, and I wince. A far off baying sound alerts the Prince, but while he turns to look at the forest, I continue to gaze up at him.

"Legolas, I fear that..." Another convulsion, stronger than the first, spasms throughout my muscles.

"Keira?" the Prince asks, his voice low and questioning.

My next words are barely audible.

"I don't think that I can make it."

"The Palace is not far now," the Elf counters. "I will see to it that you get help once we arrive."

"So much pain, not enough…time."

"_Keira!"_

I glance up to find that the Prince's eyes are ablaze with fury.

_Why is he angered at me? _

"You take your strength of heart for granted," he says fiercely. "It is cowardly to believe that you are weak enough to succumb to this."

My hands clench into fists. I have been stabbed, cut, and poisoned by Orcs, yet Legolas would have the nerve to call me _cowardly? _

"Why do you speak so harshly? I am dying, Legolas!"

A sharp howl sounding from somewhere within the forest captures both our attentions. More Warg riders, I realize with a shudder. The Prince sighs before looking down at me once more.

"You are not dying," he says, his tone impatient. "With the right herbs and medicines, Orc poison can be extracted as if it were the venom of a serpent. It is not fatal unless you wish it to be so." Legolas shoots me a dark look. "Trust me on that; I have been exposed to a fair share of poisons during my lifetime. Now stop mewling and fight it!"

My heart-beat pounds angrily in my ears, elevating as anger builds within me.

Suddenly, a loud shriek explodes out from the expanse of forest to my right, and I look over just in time to see an enormous Warg bound out from over a tree root. Legolas fells the beast almost immediately with an arrow to the forehead, and its gangly Orc rider is crushed beneath the body of the wolf as it tumbles to the ground.

"Noro lim!" the Elf cries, letting yet another arrow fly as a dark brown Warg emerge to the left. The beast lets out a pained yowl as the weapon meets with its throat, killing it instantly, and Gwestiel whinnies with fright.

"What if you run out of arrows?" I manage to shout over the ruckus.

"I won't," Legolas retorts simply as he strings a third arrow.

I understand the meaning of his words when I see the looming silhouette appear on the horizon.

_The Palace! Legolas was right; we're almost there!_

Gwestiel leaps over a small stream, her hooves clattering against the pebbles lining the shore. The movement jostles me, but I no longer feel pain. Adrenaline and excitement have replaced all sense of worry and doubt. Is it possible that the Orc poison will not take me, after all?

_We're going to make it! We're actually going too—_

An agonizing crunch sounds from beneath me, interrupting my thoughts, and Gwestiel lets out a terrible scream. The horse's front legs buckle beneath her, and the reigns slip from my grasp as she tumbles to the ground. Legolas just manages to wrench me off of the animal before I am dragged down with her. I roll down onto the forest floor and cringe as my skin meets with the coldness of snow.

Another piteous shriek escapes the Gwestiel's lungs as she attempts to regain her footing. Upon falling, the horse gives a low moan before collapsing onto her side. My stomach churns when I see the massive black arrow jutting out from just below her right shoulder. Blood stains the pearly white fur surrounding the wound an ugly shade of red.

"Gwestiel!" I hear Legolas cry. The Elf had slid off the horse just before she fell and now kneels before her. His expression is one of pure horror as he strokes the animal's thin face.

_No. No, no, no! This cannot be happening!_

Squeals of glee sound from somewhere deep in the forest, and I manage to lift myself up from the ground in order to make out the dark silhouettes forming a wide circle around us.

"Legolas," I croak. The Prince looks over at me, and I gesture to the surrounding forest. He gives a solemn nod before getting to his feet.

"Gwestiel can bear us no longer," he says darkly. The Elf then reaches over his shoulder before tossing me something. I snatch it out of the air and carefully unwrap the brown cloth folded around it. My eyes widen upon discovering that it is an Elven horn.

"Why have you not… spoken of this…before?" I manage to wheeze out.

"I did not want to alert the Orcs to our position, but it seems that my efforts were futile." Legolas's next words are deadly serious. "Blow the horn, Keira. You must try to make for the Palace. I will do my best to fend off the Orcs."

The thought of walking, especially such a long distance, seems almost as ridiculous as flying.

"Legolas, I can hardly feel… my legs," I stammer out, my thoughts jumbling together as my vision fades in and out of focus. "Walking would be… impossible."  
Legolas seems to realize the dilemma and sighs shakily. "The horn. Blow it, now."

Just as he finishes speaking, an Orc leaps out from behind him, dagger raised in preparation to stab his back. The Elf is prepared, however, and easily dodges the swipe before shooting an arrow into the foul beast's head. No sooner does the Orc fall down dead that three others emerge from the depths of the forest, each harboring gleaming black swords. I watch, helpless and frozen with fear, as they begin to advance towards him. Legolas reluctantly abandons his bow before reaching back and unsheathing his twin Elven blades. He takes on a defensive posture, knives extended out from his body in an imposing manner.

"Now, Keira!" Legolas cries before rushing at the Orcs. Something within me seems to click, and, mustering up all the strength left in me, I raise the horn to my lips and blow.

And then there is nothing but the blackness.

* * *

I am not afraid of the dark, but I do loathe it.

Floating aimlessly through the black, I wish only to be rid of it. I have been here before, in this strange state of being, after my first encounter with Legolas. But this time seems different. The prying black tendrils of night seem more reluctant to let me leave. Their many limbs threaten to consume me and wrench me from the world altogether. If they were to succeed, the long road to the Halls of Mandos would be the only thing awaiting me on the other side.

I will not let them take me. I still have something to prove; both to myself, and to Legolas. He thought it to be cowardice that drove me to believing that I was to die, and it was. Cowardice and fear for what lay ahead.

How could I have been so foolish? Death is the one thing I grew up dreading, yet I would so easily give myself to it in order to be free of pain?

No. That will not happen now, and it will _never _happen in the years to come.

"Release me!" I shout. "I will not succumb!"

The darkness seems almost to growl in irritation, and its many fingers begin to dance along the wound on my hip. They lick at it cruelly, scattering drops of red onto their black tongues. My head tips back, and for a moment I think that I might scream.

_No. Do not give them the satisfaction._

Instead, I bite down hard on my lip and attempt to block out the pain.

_You are going to die, _a small, antagonizing voice whispers in my mind. _Here is where you will meet your end, being tortured in the depths of a darkness blacker than any night. This is death._

_NO! _

The ferocity of my mind voice alone is startling. I force my eyes to remain open, if only to stare rebelliously into the darkness that keeps me prisoner.

"I will get out," I hiss at it. "Do not think that you have won."

The black tendrils recoil a bit, and I smile at my success. Whatever this darkness is, whether it be an actual being or a state of mind, I seem to be having some sort of effect on it.

_"Keira."_

What? Who's there?

Blinking in confusion, I squint up at the starless expanse of black. Did someone just say my name?

_"The light has not forsaken you. Come back to it and be welcomed."_

There it is again! How in the name of the Valar am I hearing this?

"Hello?" I call out tentatively.

_"You must find the light, Keira. Find it and return; do not accept the darkness."_

It is a distinctly male voice, and the fluidity of the words suggest that he is an Elf, yet not one that I have met before. Who, then, is he?

"Who are you?" I ask. "_Where _are you?"

_"I am right beside you. Wake and you will find me."_

I feel something brush across my arm. A hand? No, that's impossible. Nothing of the sort can reach me here…

Can it?

"Something touched me. Was that you?"

_"Come back, Keira."_

His words grow hollow in my ears until they are nothing but a continuous echo.

_"Come back."_

_"Come back."_

That is when I see it. The tiny sliver of light amidst the dark abyss. It is but a faint glow, yet it burns with the ferocity of the sun itself.

"I found it," I whisper. "It's right here in front of me."

_"Follow it."_

And I do.

* * *

Birds. That is the first thing I hear. Their sweet melodies fill my ears with song and happiness, and I know immediately that I have won. That I have escaped the clutches of the darkness.

Sighing with relief, my eyes flutter open and immediately take in the form of a person sitting next to me. The image is wavering, and it takes a moment for my vision to swim into focus.

"Hello, Keira."

The soft tone matches with the voice I heard during my time in the darkness. I blink rapidly in an attempt to clear the layer of fog from my eyes. When I succeed, I am able to see the person in clarity.

He is an Elf, as I had suspected, and is currently sitting on a chair beside the bed in which I lay. Long, dark brown hair falls down over his shoulders, and a thin silver headpiece adorns his forehead. His eyes are as gray as mist yet shine as bright as the stars, and while his face is aged compared to Legolas's flawless skin, the wrinkles only seem to make him look all the more warm and welcoming.

The Elf smiles kindly at me, and I can't help but return it.

"Were you the one who helped me?" I ask somewhat meekly.

"Yes," he replies, dipping his head to me. "I am Elrond, Lord of Imladris, the Last Homely House. In the common tongue, it is also known as Rivendell."

My heart quite nearly skips a in _the _Lord Elrond?"

"My Lord Elrond," I say. "It is an honor." Then, looking around at my surroundings, I continue. "If you don't mind me inquiring, where exactly _am _I?"

"You are, in fact, _in _Rivendell, Miss Whitam."

_ Rivendell? _How on earth did I end up in _Rivendell?_

"What?" I ask, head spinning in disbelief. "But… how? How is that possible? Last I knew, I was in Mirkwood, and there were Orcs and…" I stop short, and my eyes widen in horror as I turn to look at the Elf. "Prince Legolas, he was with me! Where is he now? Has he been injured?"

Lord Elrond chuckles at my reaction before patting my hand reassuringly.

"No, no; he is quite alright. Granted, he is perhaps a bit bruised from his encounter with the Orcs, but nothing that an Elf of his stature cannot handle."

A sigh of relief escapes my lips. Legolas is alive and well, but there are several more questions that still remain unanswered.

"Taluharn and a group of wood-elves brought you to Rivendell yesterday," Elrond says, as if reading my mind. "I had been told that you were very ill after having been poisoned by an Orc blade. Legolas seemed quite concerned for your wellbeing and had insisted that Thranduil allow Taluharn to take you here in order to be healed."

"That is a very long journey from the Woodland Realm. Surely my wounds could have been treated by the Wood-elves instead?"

"The Wood-elves are not as skilled with medicine," Elrond tells me. "The poison in your veins was too great to be countered by the herbs that grow in Mirkwood. If you were to live, then the only way to spare your life was to bring you here. Legolas informed me that Thranduil had insisted upon sending you to a human settlement near Mirkwood instead, but he had managed to persuade the King into leaving you here; at least for the time being, until your wounds have fully healed. I have managed to rid most of the poison from your system, and…"

I'm not listening to him anymore. As the Elf speaks, my mind is somewhere far, far away from him, drifting in a land of thought and worry.

_Does he mean to say that Legolas left me here in order to be rid of me? After all we have been through, would the Prince really abandon me so hastily?_

"You are worried, and understandably so," Elrond says suddenly, and I jerk at his loud tone. My thoughts careen violently off track, and I curse under my breath.

"Forgive me, my lord," I say, shaking my head. "This whole scenario is quite befuddling; I can hardly concentrate."

The Elf looks at me sympathetically before rising up from his chair.

"There is something else that you should know." Elrond strides over to a thin archway to the far side of the white-walled room before disappearing out of it. I cock my head and blink with curiosity.

_Where has he gone?_

Elrond returns after a few moments, but he is no longer alone. My heart hammers against my chest as I recognize the person following him.

"Taluharn," I say, smiling brightly at him. But, much to my surprise, the Elf shoots me a cold glance before looking away. My smile begins to fade and is soon replaced by a frown. Lord Elrond whispers something in the Elf's ear before turning back to me.

"Taluharn wishes to speak with you," he says simply. "Farewell. I will return within the hour in order to check on your condition." He then vanishes out of the archway, leaving me alone with Taluharn.

The Elf and I remain in an uncomfortable silence for quite some time before I work up the courage to look up at him. He meets my gaze with a steely one of his own before taking the seat Elrond had sat in moment earlier.

"You were foolish to leave the Palace," he chastises, eyes boring into me. "Your actions could have cost my patrol and many others their lives. It was by the good grace of the Valar that no one was injured or killed during the fight with the Orcs."

"Legolas would have died if I hadn't gone after him," I retort. "I knew where to look, and you did not. It would have taken your patrol hours, maybe even days to find him. By that time it would have been too late."

"_Prince _Legolas does not need the assistance of a mortal girl," Taluharn snaps, and I recoil at his harsh tone. The Elf's eyes show little to no remorse, though his tone is less severe as he continues. "The King had ordered our finest trackers to be sent out to search for him. They had nearly caught up to him before you came along."

Anger begins to give rise within me, and I fail at my attempt to calm myself.

"Is that what he told you?"

Taluharn seems a bit taken aback by my question, which does nothing but infuriate me more.

"Are your words your own, or did Legolas tell you to say this?" I demand.

"The Prince hardly spoke at all upon his return," the Elf replies lowly. "I myself have not seen him so secluded and distant since…" Taluharn seems to slip on his words, and I raise an eyebrow.

"Since what?" I ask, leaning towards him slightly. Much to my relief, the movement does not cause me pain. The Elf appears to have dug himself into an inescapable pit, for there is no avoiding my question. He does not reply for a long moment and instead stares of at a point somewhere far, far in the distance.

"Since she died," he states finally.

I am quiet for a moment before asking, "Who was she?"

A pained expression flickers across the Elf's features, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Her name was Lothiriel. She was a formidable warrior amongst the Silvan Elves." Taluharn sighs once more. "The Prince loved her greatly. They had kept their feelings for one another a secret from the rest of us, especially the King. Legolas knew that Thranduil would not be accepting of his love for a lowly Silvan Elf."

Another pause, this time much longer.

"How did she die?" I ask quietly.

"She was believed to be overcome by an Orc pack during a routine patrol. Legolas was preoccupied with fights of his own; there was nothing that could be done to help her." The Elf shudders as a cool breeze stirs throughout the room. "The body was never found. He went on searching her for days, months, even years. As did I."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Why did you go looking? What sort of connections do you—did you-have with her?"

I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.

"She was my sister," the Elf says solemnly.

_What have you done, Keira?_

"I am so sorry," I whisper. "I should not have asked."

"Do not apologize," replies the Elf. "She passed many, many moons ago, not even a year after the destruction of the dragon Smaug."

_That was nearly twenty years past, _I think to myself. _Yet Taluharn has learned to cope with her death while Legolas has not?_

"Legolas may have loved her greatly, but why does he continue to look for her while he knows full well that she is dead?"

"That I cannot say," says Taluharn. "Some think that he believes her to be taken prisoner, as her body was never recovered, but even one so strong as she could not survive in the dark gloom of an Orc dungeon for more than a single moon. The Eldar are creatures of light; we do not do well when exposed to such… darkness."

A clear horn blast sounds from somewhere outside the archway, startling me. Taluharn glances over his shoulder before getting to his feet once more.

"I must go; the Prince gave orders for us to leave you here once you had awoken."

"And when I am well again, what then?"

"We shall see." Taluharn gives me a short bow. "Farewell, Keira." He then begins to make for the archway.

"Taluharn!" I call, slipping my legs off the side of the bed. The Elf freezes midstride before turning to look at me.

"Yes?"

The floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I take several shaky steps towards him. No pain comes from my hip, yet my body is still weakened by the aftereffects of the poison. My pale skin feels strangely exposed without the silken fabric of the sheets as a covering, for I am clothed in only a thin Elven gown.

"Will I ever see you again?" I ask, coming to a stop in front of the Elf. He is a good head or so taller than me, but I try to ignore the height difference as I stare deeply into his green eyes. Taluharn gazes back at me, and for a moment his expression is as hard as iron. But then I see the corners of his lips tug upwards into a small smile.

"I have not the gift of foresight," he says. "But I pray that one day we may meet again." Taluharn puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. "You have a kind heart, Keira; do not forget that." I smile up at him place my hand over top his.

"Thank you, Taluharn," I reply. His eyes sparkle in the light of the morning sun as it streams through the room's many windows. The Elf holds my gaze briefly before removing his hand from my shoulder and vanishing through the archway.

And, just like that, he is gone.

I stride over to the archway and peer out to see the Elf making his way down a flight of stairs and into a courtyard. A group of five Elves, all atop horses, await him there. One horse, however, remains without a rider. Its pelt is a pearly white color, and I immediately think of Gwestiel. My last memory of the horse was when an ugly black Orc arrow was jutting out of her shoulder.

_I should have asked Taluharn about her. If she survived her wound._

It is too late now, though.

Several other Elves, natives to Rivendell, I would guess, stand off to the side in order to farewell the patrol. Elrond is among them, and he raises a hand as Taluharn mounts a gray horse.

_"May the stars shine bright for you," _he says in Elvish, and Taluharn gives him a stout nod. The Elf then turns round his horse before ushering it down a long arch bridge leading to a path running along a cliff side. His patrol follows closely behind, and in a matter of moments they have disappeared around a bend in the pathway.

"Farewell," I whisper after them. Turning away from the opening, I stride over to a small balcony on the far side of my chambers. Its clear glass doors are swung wide, allowing a gentle breeze to wafe into the room. The smell of various trees and flower blossoms fills my nose as I step out onto the platform. It overhangs the rest of the city, giving me an exquisite view of the beautiful Elven structure.

_Perhaps it is best that they brought you here. Perhaps it is best that Legolas chose to send you here for the time being instead of keeping you in Mirkwood._

But the idea of staying here, even though the city's inhabitants seem perfectly friendly, is not at all tolerable. I can't help but feel like there's something here that's missing. Something that should be here but is not.

"Why did you do this, Legolas?" I ask aloud, looking up to the sky. It is aglow with the colors of dawn. "Why did you bring me here instead of sending me to that city?"

"Perhaps he knew that you would be welcomed here."

The voice is gentle, but no less disrupting. I jump in surprise and am about to turn to face the speaker before I realize that I know the voice. How I know it, I cannot say, but it familiar nonetheless.

My heart leaps up into my throat as I spin on heel to look at the person.

A woman stands before me, clothed in an emerald green dress that brings out the teal color of her eyes. There is no mistaking the pointed ears sticking out from underneath her raven-colored hair. The Elf's gaze is soft yet intense, and I blink rapidly.

I have seen those eyes before.

"Do I know you?" I ask quickly, taking a nervous step back. The she-elf's fair face softens for a moment as she clasps her hands in front of her.

"At one time, yes," she says. "You may not recognize me now, but I remember you." The Elf closes her eyes momentarily, and when she opens them once more, they are glittering with tears. "I remember."

My pulse races, and suddenly I feel light-headed.

"Who are you?" I say, though I am not quite sure that I want to know the answer.

"Among the Elves I am called Faelwen." She takes a step towards me, and that's when I notice that her eyes are not teal-colored as I once that. They are green; as green as the grass that grows on the rolling hills of the Shire to the west.

Beautiful eyes.

Familiar eyes.

_My_ eyes.

_No. It can't be._

"You, however, once called me by another name." We are the same height now that she has stepped out onto the balcony; surprising, being every Elf I have met so far towers over me. Our eyes meet, and in that moment I know. I know who she is, though it may seem impossible, even before she speaks again.

"Keira… I am your mother."

* * *

** I know that I'm just the meanest author ever for leaving you all with yet ANOTHER cliffhanger, but patience is a virtue, right? RIGHT?! Right. So yeah… have fun with it! And once again, a big thank you to all who reviewed, followed, favorited, or even just took the time to read my story! It means a lot to me! Feel free to leave some reviews, and hopefully the next update will be up soon!**


	9. Dreamed

**Hello again! Sorry about the late update… I've been sick as a dog for most of the week :P Anyways, here's Chapter 9! Enjoy!**

* * *

Time seems to slow for the few moments that I stand in silence, gazing into the eyes of the raven-haired she-elf who has just claimed to be my mother. This cannot be possible… how could it be? My mother left Byron and me when I was very young. Could it be that she left early enough so that I would not know her true identity?

"I… I don't understand!" I cry out. "You're an Elf? How? Why did my father never speak of this?"  
"Shh," Faelwen soothes, placing a finger to my lips. "Do not speak so loudly. My kin do not know that I am here." She glances nervously back at the room before turning to me. "I cannot stay long, but pray do not be so quick to judge me. I left you and your father because I had no other choice."

"There is always a choice," I snap back, suddenly agitated. My long lost mother, the one who abandoned me in the first place, would dare show her face again? The thought is simply infuriating. "My father loved you, whether you be of Elf-kind or not. You left us when we needed you most!"

"Hear me, daughter-"

"Do not call me daughter," I say fiercely. "You lost that right long ago." Faelwen recoils a step back, and her face pales at the expression of anger etched onto my features.

"Keira," she corrects quietly. "Please, hear me now. I loved you and your father more than words could express. He knew that I could not stay with him forever, for my kind did not approve of our love. For years I begged them to allow Byron to live among us, as we had married in secret away from Rivendell." Faelwen sighs. "But my pleas were to no avail. Lord Elrond did not allow Byron to reside here; he told me that humans were unreliable and would fail me when I needed them the most." The she-elf looks up at me with knowing green eyes. "I was left with an unborn child."

My eyes widen as I realize what that means. That child was _me._

"I have no memory of you," I tell her uneasily. "Why?"

"Because I knew you for no more than a day," she says quietly. "I had left my kin for a short while in order to be with your father. In that time, I gave birth to you. For a long, blissful year we raised you in the city of Brunsfarrow. Of course, I had to keep my identity a secret from the rest of the citizens; to them, I was a stranger that ventured to Brunsfarrow from a small settlement west of the city. Many days I spent living among them, learning their ways. Back then, I thought that Brunsfarrow would suit all my needs; I would be with you and Byron, after all.

"That is, before the Song of Illuvatar bore me home to Rivendell." The she-elf's gaze looks downward in sorrow. "I realized that, no matter what, I would never truly be happy as long as I was away from my kin. Your father, bless him, understood my reasons. And when I was moved to make the journey home, he also understood why I had to leave you with him; the Elves would not be accepting of a child with a mortal man. They would think it to be an impurity of our race." Faelwen reaches out to place a soft hand on my cheek. "But you are not, my dear. You are as pure and radiant as the sun itself. I fear that one day the pride of the Elves will be their downfall, for I know that they could not bring themselves to see how beautiful you really are."

There is a long silence between us before I speak once more.

"How did you meet?" I ask her. "Byron and you? How did you first come to know of my father?" An elegant smile graces the she-elf's pale lips.

"I was journeying to Lothlorien to visit my woodland kin when I came across him. He was hunting alone in the mountain pass." Her eyes sparkle in the sunlight, gleaming like twin emeralds. "He was a sight to behold, your father, for I had never met a human man before. His hair glittered the brightest of copper, and his eyes… oh, but his eyes were the best part of all, for they shone as bright as the stars." Faelwen strokes the hair on the base of my neck. "You have grown to be so beautiful, my dear. I see him in your eyes. Byron once told me you and I would meet again, and now I know that he has not failed me."

"Why did he not tell me about you?" I question suddenly. "Why would he hide something like this from me? For years I begged my father to tell me of you, but he never would. All he would say is that you left and would never come back." My fists clench in anger. "If you loved him at all, you would have kept him from the pain that was brought on by your leave."

"And how might've I done that?"

"By not falling for him in the first place!" I exclaim. "Elves are supposed to be wise, are they not? You of all people would know the consequences of falling in love with a mortal!"

Faelwen frowns, mirroring my own expression so closely that it sends shudders down my spine.

"I would bear many consequences for the sake of love," she whispers. "Your father was everything to me. It nearly tore my heart in two to leave him, but I knew that it had to be done. It is better to love just once, even if only for a short while, than to never love at all."

"But did you even consider what it might do to _him_?" I exclaim. "Byron had a heart, as well! And yet you would dare to be so cruel as to leave him when I was so young? The only reason that we survived was because of my father's high rank among the city guards." I shudder as a wisp of wind ruffles through my nightgown. "Though sometimes I think of his position to be more of a curse than anything else."

"Is that so?" she inquires, eyes widened with an unreadable emotion. "I always knew Byron was proud of his rank among men, and I assume that he still is. Brunsfarrow is a very lovely city; you are lucky to reside in it." My mouth falls agape in shock.

_She doesn't know, _I think. _About the Orcs, about the city. Not even about my father._

I have to tell her, no matter how hard that may be.

"Brunsfarrow was destroyed nearly a decade past," I say slowly. "The city was burned to the ground by Orcs; all of its inhabitants perished in the flames." Faelwen's face pales considerably.

"And Byron?" she asks, green eyes sparkling with concern. "What of him? Surely your father—my husband—was able to make it out alive?"

I sigh shakily as the image of his arrow-ridden body flashes in my mind.

"He did not live long enough to see Brunsfarrow fall. His hunting patrol was ambushed by Orc scouts a year earlier. They left no survivors." I gather up the courage to look the she-elf in the eye and find that she is staring at some point far off in the distance.

"How long?" Faelwen whispers. "How long has he been dead?"

"Twelve years."

Faelwen's gaze shifts to my face, and it is only then when I see the tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Keira," she whispers, "Brave, beautiful Keira. Not only did your mother abandon you, but your father is gone as well?" The Elf gathers me into her arms and presses her forehead against my own. "I should never have left you, my child. I should have born with my feelings of longing and stayed to raise you. How could I have been so foolish?"

"It was not your fault," I find myself telling her. "His death was not preventable. Not even the most skilled of warriors could have fended off such an attack."

"My thoughts do not lie with Byron." Faelwen pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. "I worry for you, Keira. Nothing can bring back the dead; I know that, but for my own child to have to cope with his passing at so young an age?" Tears stream in rivulets down Faelwen's cheeks. "How could have I been so foolish?" she repeats, squeezing me tight to her.

"Do not worry," I say. Moisture has begun to spring into my own eyes, and I feel a sob hitch in my throat. "I have learned to live alone."

"Keira," Faelwen breaths. "You have grown to be so strong, and for that I could not be more proud." The she-elf smiles half-heartedly. "I am sorry that I could not be there when you needed me the most. I do not ask your forgiveness, for I know that my actions cannot be so easily forgiven."

Faelwen gazes softly at me before frowning and glancing over her shoulder.

"I must go now," she tells me quickly. "Lord Elrond cannot know that I am here." Faelwen touches my cheek as another wave of tears spills from her eyes. "Goodbye, my dear."

And with that she is gone.

I watch her go through saddened eyes. She is my mother, and though I cannot yet forgive her for what she put my father and me through, I can feel sympathy for her. Perhaps Faelwen did have a good reason to leave us, but that surely cannot make up for the years of pain and loss Byron went through while raising me.

It will also take time for me to fully accept the fact that my mother is of Elf-kind. For all my life, the idea of having a mother was no more than an unattainable reality. But now that she is here, in the flesh, somehow I am left wishing that I had never met her. By the Valar, if the Orcs or whatever blasted creatures hadn't left me alone and wounded in Mirkwood, I would not be stuck in this predicament in the first place! Such thoughts could drive a girl to madness!

_But then you would never have met the Wood-elves, _I counter myself. _You would never have met Legolas._

Legolas.

Even the thought of his name fills me with sorrow. What I wouldn't give for the Elf to be here with me now. To put his hand on my shoulder and give me one of his rare smiles.

To make me feel like maybe, just maybe, everything might work out to be okay.

_If only._

I shake my head at the thought. Turning around to face the room, I prepare to make my way back to the comfort of the bed when I am stopped by a tall figure blocking my path. I recoil with surprise as the sunlight illuminates the gentle face of Lord Elrond. The Elf smiles upon noticing my expression.

"Forgive me for startling you," he says softly. "I meant no harm."

"It is fine," I say somewhat breathlessly. "But, if you don't mind, could I ask you something?" Elrond nods, and I continue. "How did I even make it to Rivendell? Why didn't the poison kill me?"

"Though the Wood-elves did not harbor the means to heal your wounds, they were able to use a mixture of herbs in order to induce your body into a death-like state. Your pulse slowed considerably, preventing the poison to spread any further. You remained in the dreamless slumber for the length of time it took for the Elves to ferry you to Rivendell."

"But isn't the trip a very long one?"

"Regularly, it is a five day journey, but the Wood-elves rode both day and night and were able to arrive here in three."

_Why would they bother to do that for me? Since when have I been that important?_

"They see something in you," says Elrond. His ability to read minds is uncanny, I decide with a shudder. "As do I," the Elf continues. "You are very much unlike the rest of your race."

"But how?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. "How am I different?"

Elrond's face grows serious for a moment.

"Because the blood of the Eldar runs in your veins."

_What?_

I frown at the Elf and cock my head ever so slightly.

"What?"

"I said that the blood of the Eldar runs in your-"

"No, no," I say, waving my hand at him. "I heard you correctly, but I'm afraid that you must be mistaken. Such a thing would be…"

Reality strikes me like a slap in the face. My father was a human, but as I now know, my mother was not. Faelwen was an Elf.

What does that make me?

"Do not think me to be ignorant of the identity of your mother," says Elrond. "Long has Faelwen desired to keep her doings of the past a secret, but I harbor the gift of foresight. When your mother professed her love for Byron, I looked into her future and saw that a half-elven child would be born to her."

My eyes widen at the knowing look in his eyes.

"Perhaps you were wrong?" I counter feebly.

"My foresight is never incorrect."

I go silent for a moment.

"Then I am, in fact, a half-elf."

"Your father was a human, was he not?"

I nod, and Elrond is silent for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

"You should rest now, Keira. Your body still has yet to heal from the effects of the poison."

"Why bother to go through all this trouble for a lowly half-breed?" I ask suddenly. "Why not just deny the Wood-elves and let me die? I am but an impurity, after all…"

"Do not berate yourself in such ways!"

The ferocity of Elrond's tone surprises me. So far, he has been nothing but gentle and soft-spoken, yet now I see that there is a whole different side to him that has yet to be uncovered.

"Why not?" I ask daringly.

"Because I respect you," the Elf says simply. "You were brave to go out looking for the Prince. Half-elf or not, there are not many who would dare to venture out alone in the forest of Mirkwood."

"You know about that?" I ask, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Taluharn informed me on all there was to know about your actions."

Something in his eyes tells me that he knows more about me than I would like, and I blink in order to break his powerful gaze.

"Why aren't my ears pointed?" The question is a desperate attempt to change the subject, but it must sound extremely childish to the Elf lord, judging by the look he gives me.

"Your father docked them when you were very young," he tells me. "In order to conceal your true identity as a half-elf. He feared that the people would berate you."

I instinctively raise up a hand and rub the top of my ear with my fingertips. Up until now, I had never realized that the strange bumps that line it are mounds of scar tissue brought on by such a procedure. The thought makes me ill.

"Sleep, Keira," Elrond says softly. "Your mind needs rest as well as your body."

This time, as much as I hate to admit it, the Elf is right. I am still very weak from the effects of the poison; perhaps sleep can rid me of this situation altogether.

"As you wish," I mumble before striding over to the bed. Elrond dips his head to me before sweeping out of the room, his purple robes trailing out behind him.

I am asleep within seconds.

* * *

I dream of him. The Prince.

He stands on the edge of an immense cliff, overlooking the vastness of the land beneath. The country surrounding the cliff is a forest, I realize, though it is not luscious and green as the woods of Lorien. It is instead cloaked in an impenetrable darkness that sends fear prickling through my veins. Legolas, however, seems strangely unmoved by the sinister sight, for his eyes no longer look to the horizon. They are looking at me.

"Legolas," I call. "Legolas, what is going on?"

"Keira," says the Elf, his gentle blue gaze unwavering despite the sorrow hidden within his voice. "You should not be here."

"What is it?" I ask softly, taking a cautious step towards him.

The Prince gazes at me for a moment before looking away.

"I do not want any harm to come to you. It would be in your best interest to leave now."

"Where are we? What is this place?"

_"LEAVE!"_

The power and ferocity of the Elf's tone sends me scuttling back several steps.

"Legolas," I whisper. "Please. Tell me what is wrong!"

Much to my surprise, the Elf turns around and begins to walk towards me. His expression soft, and I feel my heart flutter as he comes to a stop in front of me.

"Leave," he says simply, but this time not as severe. The Elf raises up a hand and places it underneath my chin. His fingers dance along my jawline, and I try to ignore the fact that my pulse quickens with every touch.

"No," I reply. "I'm not leaving. Not this time. I can't bear it."

"You have to." His blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight. "It is too dangerous. Go now and pray do not return."

A single tear streaks down me cheek as I take a step back from him. Legolas blinks at me sympathetically before I notice his gaze flicker to a spot in the distance just above my right shoulder. I follow his gaze and nearly shriek upon noticing the Orc standing not five feet away from me. In its wrinkled grey hands lies a menacing black bow.

"Legolas!" I shriek. "Shoot him down!" The Elf does nothing, however, and I watch hopelessly as the Orc strings an arrow whose steely tip drips with a deep blue liquid. Poison; just like the kind that almost killed me. I look back at the Elf with fear in my eyes, begging him to take action.

Legolas meets my gaze with his own just as the Orc releases the arrow.

* * *

"_Legolas!" _

I sit bolt upright, heart pounding and eyes wide with fear. It is dark now; the sun has dipped down below the horizon. But it is not the darkness that troubles me.

Legolas. Where is he? I have to find him!

"My lady?"

The soft voice does little to calm me as much as it brings me back to reality. A sob racks my throat as I press my face into my hands.

"I am alright," I reply gently, though I'm sure that whoever spoke can hear the lie in my voice. My fingernails dig deeply into my scalp as I rock back in forth, willing myself to forget the horrible nightmare.

_Legolas is okay. He is not dead. It was just a dream._

Another sob catches in my throat, and I force myself to take in deep, calming breaths. Nothing is wrong; I am still in Rivendell, in the care of Lord a Elrond. Nothing has changed.

But at the same time, it has. I can't help but feel that something is wrong, that Legolas is somehow in danger. How, I cannot tell.

"Legolas," I whisper. My voice borders on a moan. "Why couldn't you have come here with Taluharn and the others? It would've been better for the both of-"

"Who are you talking to?"

The voice is quiet, and I look over to see a brown-haired Elf standing at the entrance to the archway. His hazel gaze is soft as he looks down at my quivering form.

"No one," I reply shakily. "Just myself."

"I see." The Elf turns on heel, preparing to leave, before suddenly looking back at me.

"Forgive me," he says. "I am Lindir. I have heard much about you from my Lord Elrond. It was said that you had been poisoned by an Orc blade." Lindir takes a tentative step towards me. "Is that true?"

"Yes," I reply. "Why do you ask, Lindir?"

"I was curious," he tells me quickly. "I am sorry if I disturbed you, my lady."

"Wait!" I call out before the Elf can leave. Lindir immediately turns to look at me, and I shoot him a small smile. "Are you busy?"

"My Lord Elrond had only instructed that I was to keep a close eye on you."

"Good." I smile again, and this time Lindir returns it warmly. "It is nice to have someone to talk to. Would you mind talking to me?"

"Not at all, Keira." The Elf strides briefly across the room before seating himself in the chair beside my bed. "What do you wish to speak to me of?"

"I want to know why I am here. The real reason."

Lindir blinks, clearly shocked at my question, before scratching the back of his neck.

"My lady, I do not think that I am obligated to-"

"Obligated or not, I need you to tell me!"

I surprise even myself with the ferocity in my voice. Poor Lindir looks a bit distraught as his gaze drops to the ground, but I do not apologize.

"Lord Elrond was asked to keep you here until you have fully healed. That is all I know."

"Or is it all you can say?" I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rest my elbows on my thighs. "You are hiding something from me, Lindir. I can see it in your eyes. What aren't you telling me?"

The Elf swallows hard, and the color seems to vanish from his face.

Please, Lindir. Tell me and I shall ask no more of you."

"As you wish," he says finally, looking me in the eye. "But mind you, this is all the information I have.

"Lord Elrond made an agreement to take you in after Taluharn of the Wood-Elves arrived here two days past. They told him that you had been poisoned, and when he inquired of your reasons of having been with the Elves, Taluharn simply told him that the Prince had found you deep within the depths of Mirkwood. He spoke a little of your past, but only enough to give Lord Elrond some insight on you.

"I spoke to Taluharn shortly after Elrond took you to be healed. He said that you were not like the other humans that he had encountered; that you seemed different in a way that he could not explain." Lindir looks up at me, his dark gaze serious. "He said that you survived the Orc attack that claimed your city and fled to the Brown Lands. No ordinary human could settle in such a rugged part of country, and for such a long period of time, nonetheless."

"That would be because I am half-elven."

My comment stops Lindir in his tracks, and his eyes widen to the point that I fear that they may jump out of their sockets.

"But that is not important right now," I say. "Tell me. What else did he say?"

The Elf lets out a sigh. "Taluharn told me that your body rejected the medicine the Wood-elves tried to treat you with. The only way to save you was to bring you here."

I am silent for a long moment. Surely there must have been some other reason to bring me here! To save my life would not be enough for them; a human—or half-human—girl such as myself would not be worth such a trouble. They easily could have given up on me when their medicines failed. No one would have judged them for it… _I _wouldn't judge them for it.

"He also mentioned that he was not under the orders of the King," Lindir adds.

I blink with unmasked surprise. _If not the King, then who else?_

I know the answer even before Lindir speaks again.

"Legolas was the one who gave the instructions to bring you here; he deceived the King into believing you to be dead. Thranduil thinks that Taluharn's patrol is out hunting Orcs near Mirkwood's borders."

"What?" I ask, somewhat dumbfounded. Why on earth would Legolas need to go behind Thranduil's back?  
_Thranduil didn't care if you died._

No, the King would not, but could it really be that the Prince_ did? _Could Legolas possibly have cared enough to send me here? To lie to his own father?

"My death would be nothing to Thranduil," I say nonchalantly. "To him, I was no more than an intruder in his realm. But to Legolas…" I look up at Lindir with wide eyes. "I don't know why he would do this. He had no reason to."

"Did he not?"

I look up and raise an eyebrow upon noticing the smile curling at Lindir's lips.

"Perhaps I am mistaken, but I distinctly remember having been told that it was, in fact, you who saved the Prince's life. Am I wrong?" For a long moment I can do nothing but gape at him.

"I went after him," I reply quietly. "That much I can say."

"And you saved his life. Without you, the Prince would have likely succumbed to his injuries."

The power of his words slowly begins to sink in as I gaze into his knowing eyes. He's right. I did save Legolas's life, though others may not see it that way.

"Taluharn told me that you might behave this way," Lindir says. "You are bold but humble. That I admire."

"Why do I get the feeling that you've been talking to Lord Elrond?"

The brown-haired Elf chuckles and opens his mouth to reply when the sharp blast of a horn cuts him off. He shoots a nervous glance at me before getting to his feet and striding over to the arch opening.

"What is it?" I whisper. Another horn blast, followed closely by loud shouting.

_What in the name of the Valar is going on?_

"Lindir?"

"The night patrol has returned." The Elf turns to look at me. "They are not alone." I blink, confused, before standing and making my way over to him.

"What do you mean 'not alone'?" I ask, peering out of the archway. Lindir steps aside in order to let me see past him, and my eyes widen as I take in the sight.

A patrol of five Elves, all atop horses, march down the narrow bridge leading to Rivendell. Each rider bears a brightly flaming torch. The two Elves bringing up the rear sit atop large Elvish draft horses, both of which have heavy rope attached to their saddles. My eyes follow the length of the rope back until my gaze settles on the shadowed figure trailing several feet behind them. The rope is wound tightly around its muscled black neck, and despite the beast's tugging and squirming, it cannot seem to escape it.

"How does the rope not break?" I ask Lindir.

"That rope was made in the woods of Lorien. A strong magic lies upon it that prevents it from breaking."

I then watch as the Elves haul the beast into the entrance of the city. The darkness of night prevents me from making out its identity, but the feeling of dread that has begun to creep into my heart tells me that I might not want to know.

Then, suddenly, the beast freezes in place. The black fur on its back stands up into an enormous ridge, and I watch in horror as its massive head swings round to look at me. Two orb-like yellow eyes ensnare my gaze immediately, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

I know those eyes.

Lindir must sense something is amiss, for he looks over at me and frowns.

"Is something wrong?" he questions.

"Yes. Something is very, _very _wrong"

I look over at the Elf, my eyes wide with fear.

"You don't know who you're dealing with," I say in a hushed voice. "The beast should not have been brought here, Lindir. You must release him."

"Why should we?"

I do not answer but instead force myself to brave the steely golden gaze of the creature before me. I am not dreaming this time. He is really here. The beast that haunts my nightmares; the monster that lurks in the shadows of my thoughts. A terrible shudder runs down along my spine as a white smile spreads out from beneath the beast's penetrating eyes, and I feel the color vanish from my face.

"So now you decide to show up, beast?" I hiss. "How very daring of you."

"You speak as if you know this creature!"

I ignore the Elf's comment, for I am completely consumed by the fiery gaze of my most dreaded enemy. The corner of my mouth twitches, and the beast narrows his eyes. My next words are hardly above a whisper, but somehow I know that he hears them.

"Hello, Carca."

* * *

**Feel free to review, and thanks for reading, lovelies! 3**


	10. Carca

**Chapter 10 has arrived! This one's a bit longer… hopefully it will make up for my late update. I really do apologize for the wait, by the way. I've just been VERY busy. :P**

**Anyways, I hope you all like it! Enjoy!**

* * *

Dawn rises above the horizon, painting the city of Rivendell with gorgeous shades of gold and pink. The Elves have just begun to stir; I can hear their soft foot treads as they make their way down the cobblestone streets. The birds sing their glorious melodies as they flutter amongst the trees dotting the courtyard in which I stroll, but I cannot bring myself to enjoy the sweet sound. Instead, my mind is spinning with one thought that has blossomed into thousands of possibilities.

Why is Carca here, and where is he now?

It has been two days since the beast's mysterious arrival. Lindir had turned in for the night shortly after the incident and been replaced by a different Elf with pale gold hair and stormy grey eyes. He introduced himself as Daeron, and though he seemed nice enough, I could not bring myself to ask him about the wolf. Instead, after many long hours of doing nothing but sleeping and pacing, I had requested to take a stroll through the courtyard. Daeron did not hesitate to guide me out to the courtyard, claiming that he himself would, "like some time with nature."

And that is how I ended up here in the first place, gazing up at the magnificent tree tops as Daeron kept a watchful eye on me from beneath a nearby archway.

_How amazing that the trees here keep their leaves even in the cold of winter, _I think to myself. The foliage shines golden as sunlight streams through the gaps between the leaves. For a moment I stand there in silence, willing myself to forget my troubles, but somehow I cannot. Carca is here, though I know not where exactly. That thought in itself is enough to send me into a tizzy.

"Why?" I whisper aloud. "Why would the Elves bring him here?"

"Something wrong?" comes a voice to my right. Daeron, ever insightful, must have caught onto the conflicted look of my expression.

"It's nothing," I say quickly, looking at him with a smile. Seeing him makes me think of Legolas. They have similar colored hair, the same bold Elven features, but there is something that Daeron lacks. His eyes do not harbor the same wisdom and depth as the Prince's, nor do they shine as brightly.

_Why does everything I see make me think of him?_

Shaking my head, I force myself to continue walking along the earthen pathway. The thin Elven slippers adorning my feet are no match for the roughness of the ground beneath them; their soles have worn themselves into nothingness, exposing my bare feet to the elements. But somehow, the feeling of the soil between my toes is enjoyable, therefore I declined Daeron's offer to get me more suitable footwear.

Speaking of the Elf, I feel that perhaps now is the time to mention that I had seen the wolf.

"Daeron," I say suddenly. "Why is the wolf here?"

The Elf blinks with surprise, and his face pales.

"Wolf?" he replies uneasily, rising to his feet and striding over to me. "There is no such thing within the walls of Rivendell."

"Don't pretend to be ignorant. I know what I saw. Surely Lindir told you that he and I watched the animal being led into the city?"

"I assure you, there is no such thing. You must have been dreaming."

_Why are you lying, Daeron? _

"My eyes do not often deceive me," I say warily.

"The darkness of night can betray even the sharpest of eye. Do not trust in what they see, for the truth will not always be shown." Daeron narrows his eyes as I take a step back, an expression of disgust written onto my features.

_Liar! Deceiver! _

"Oh? Then why don't you ask Lindir about it?"

"I already have," he says. "He told me that the late hour was playing tricks on his mind. There was no wolf being led into Rivendell; only the patrol."

My face flushes with angry heat. Is he honestly going to pretend that I saw _nothing? _When Daeron makes no further reply, I take a deep breath and decide if this is the game that he's going to play, then I might as well join in.

Forcing myself to stay calm, I straighten before giving the Elf a weak smile.

"Forgive me," I say, forcing myself to play along. "It must have been my imagination." Shrugging off the anger rising up within me, I change the subject. "Do you think you could give me a tour of the city? I've been dying to see more of it!"

"It would be my pleasure. Guests are always welcome to experience the full glory of Rivendell whenever they wish." I barely contain a snort as the Elf turns and beckons me to follow him back up the path.

_A guest? Since when do guests have guards stationed outside their room? Since when do guests have to be escorted everywhere without a moment's peace? I am no guest… _

_I am a prisoner._

* * *

"This is where our councils are held," Daeron says, leading me through a dark archway before we emerge in a circular room. I blink as my eyes adjust to the glare of the winter sun.

A dozen or so chairs form a ring around the perimeter of the room, and a small gray pedestal stands in the middle of them. There is no ceiling, allowing the trees towering on either side of it to grow overhead. Birds flutter admist the tree tops, their wing-beats stirring up old blossom petals that now fall daintily onto my hair and shoulders. Golden leaves are scattered along the ground, crunching beneath my foot treads as I admire the scenery.

Or, at least, I try to make it look like I am.

My mind is secretly straying to thoughts of a much darker place. A place where the Elves could potentially keep an enormous wolf hidden away from my sight. Or so they would think.

"This is beautiful," I tell Daeron, turning to meet his silver gaze. "When was the last council held?"

"Many years past," he replies. "Lord Elrond has found no need of them in recent times."

"If that is so, then do you have visitors often?"

"Not often," he says with a hint of sorrow in his tone. "Wayward travelers will pass by here on occasion, but they never stay for more than a single night. Our most recent and memorable encounter with the other races was when Thorin and his company passed by on their quest to reclaim Erebor."

My father used to tell me tales of the desolation of the dragon, Smaug. He was a very vain beast, I was told; vain and incredibly powerful. Yet it was but an ordinary man, Bard of Laketown, that felled the creature with a black arrow.

"What were they like?" I ask. "The dwarves, I mean."

Daeron chuckles lightly.

"Now that is a question that might best be reserved for Lindir." He smiles. "The poor soul had quite an experience when the dwarves decided to use our fountain as a wash place. I dare say that he has never quite recovered from the ghastly sight."

"Has he not?" I laugh in turn. "I can only imagine what that must have been like... and for such a shy person to go through, nonetheless."

"To be shy is in his nature. Not even Mithrandir can seem to get more than a few words out of him at a time."

My smile fades slightly at the mention of the strange name. Daeron seems to catch onto my confused look and quickly fills me in.

"Mithrandir is a great wizard, a member of the Istari. He is known by many different names; perhaps you are more familiar with the title Gandalf?"

"I have not the slightest idea," I say. "He might have dropped a visit by Brunsfarrow once or twice, but I was too young to remember clearly."

_Enough talk of dwarves and wizards! You need to figure out where they are keeping Carca!_

"It has been very kind of you to show me around your city, Daeron." The Elf gives a graceful bow in reply, and I am silent for a moment as I fumble for more words. "You don't happen to have… I don't know, maybe someplace _darker _that might provide an escape from the, um…" I pause awkwardly and fling my arm up to gesture at the sky. "The, um… the sun? I have begun to feel quite flushed."

"If you wish for me to take you back to your room, you need only-"

"_No!"_

The Elf recoils a bit at my powerful tone, and I smile in an attempt to lessen it.

"What I mean to say is, I was wondering if you have any caves around here?"

"By caves, do you speak of the forge?"

_The forge, _I think. _Would the Elves consider keeping Carca locked in there?_

"You have a forge?" I ask, widening my eyes in an attempt to appear curious.

"Yes," Daeron replies somewhat uneasily. "But it is currently in use by some of our, erm, blacksmiths. Perhaps we can visit some other-?"

"Why not now?" I interrupt. The Elf frowns at my rudeness, and I giggle in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I am sorry I interrupted you; where are my manners?"

"You are forgiven," says Daeron, quickly waving me off. I smile gratefully before continuing.

"But in all seriousness, Daeron, I do not know how long I will be staying here. If the Wood-Elves were to arrive again tomorrow, and I hadn't seen the forges it would quite nearly break my heart!"

"It is a five day journey from Mirkwood to Rivendell. It would be impossible for them to return so quickly."

_ Elves. Always count on them to give you the blunt truth._

"Well, what if Elrond decided to send me off to some human settlement? Have a heart, Daeron; at least give me a glimpse of them?"

The Elf gives a long and heavy sigh before shooting me an irritated look.

"Fine, but we cannot stay long. Lord Elrond would want you resting."

And with that the Elf turns on heel and strides back through the archway.

_Is Carca there, perhaps? Is that why Daeron acts so reluctant to show me?_

Despite my fear of the wolf, curiosity has begun to get the best of me. Carca is not to be trusted, but he is not entirely evil, either. There must be some part of him that is still good. After all, he strove to protect his people just as much as my father did the residents of Brunsfarrow. That must amount for something, at least. The wolf may be a beast, but does that necessarily make him the murderer I dreamt of all those nights ago?

Would Carca kill me if he had the chance? Maybe that's why the Elves brought him here in the first place; maybe he _has _killed someone.

Could that someone be one of their kin?

I want to know. I _need _to know, and finding Carca is the only answer. No rest will come to me until I know.

Sighing warily, I gather up my courage and follow after the blond-haired Elf.

* * *

Daeron's silver eyes seem to glow as he leads me down a narrow pathway that opens into a small grove of trees. The sun can barely reach through the thick canopy of grey-leaved trees surrounding us, which is both a blessing and a curse. It is a relief to be away from its constant glare, but I also know that far more dangerous things can lurk in the dark places of the world.

"Watch your step," Daeron says absentmindedly as he steps over a tree root. "The ground is not even here."

Taking the Elf's words into consideration, I am careful to avoid the obstacles along the pathway. Then, after a long few minutes of trekking down the path, we come across a flat section of ground. The trail ahead leads into a dark cave that appears to have been carved into the mountainside. Two torches decorate the walls on either side of it, and the air drifting out of the opening smells hot and stale compared to the freshness of the forest.

"Is that it?" I ask. Upon realizing how my comment might be misinterpreted, I quickly add, "It is very impressive. The Elves must have worked many long months in order to carve this out."

"It was not the Elves who created this cave," Daeron says as he slides one of the torches from its holster. "Nature was the only force at work here. Now take that torch in hand; the caves are quite dark." I obediently grab hold of the opposite torch and follow the Elf into the depths of the cave.

Sounds of metal clanging against metal begin to fill me ears as Daeron leads me deep into the rock-walled tunnel. The torch proves to be the only significant form of light source, and I am glad that Daeron instructed me to take it.

"So," I begin, "how long does this tunnel go on for?"

"Not far," he states blandly.

_And there goes my attempt at conversation…_

The Elf is right. We have been walking for only a minute or two when we suddenly emerge into a large cavern. Its enormous stone walls tower up on either side, and I glance up at them in awe. A clattering sound suddenly alerts me, and I look to my right and see two Elves hammering together the broken pieces of a sword. The metal glows an angry red as their anvils strike it multiple times, sending showers of sparks onto the floor. The table on which they work is decorated with scorch marks, and I watch as one of the Elves strides over to a stout rack of swords lining the walls nearest to them. He singles out a particular blade and strides over to the far side of the cavern. A large fire pit burns in an opening in the wall, and I watch in awe as the Elf thrusts the broken blade into the flames. The process is repeated by several more Elves bustling about the large area.

"It looks as if they are preparing for something," I comment. "Why else would you have need for so many weapons?"

"Orcs have begun to grow braver," Daeron says quietly. "It will not be long before they infiltrate our borders, and we must be ready when that happens."

There is a brief silence as I continue to admire the sight before me. None of the Elves appear to have taken notice of us; either that or they pay us no mind.

I am just about to ask Daeron another question when something else captures my attention. On the wall to my right lies a wide-mouthed tunnel. As if on cue, a strong gust of hot air blows out from the yawning black jaws, and a deep rumbling sound shakes the ground beneath my feet.

"Where does that lead?" I ask, gesturing to the opening. Daeron's body tenses as his gaze comes to rest on the tunnel, and he abruptly turns on heel.

"Nothing of importance," he says stiffly. "Come now; you have seen the forges. Let us go back to the city."

Somewhat reluctantly, I allow the Elf to lead me back up the tunnel from whence me came, making sure to memorize every one of its twists and turns.

This may be my first time venturing into the forges, but it will not be my last. While the Elf was skilled at trying to hide it from me, I know full well that something inhabits that tunnel in the forges. Something that Daeron didn't want me knowing about.

Something that bears the name of Carca.

* * *

"Keira."

Two hands grip my shoulders and jostle me gently.

"Keira, wake up!"  
My eyes flutter open and, blinking sleep from my eyes, I take in the face of Faelwen hovering above mine.

"What… what is it?" I ask with a frown. "What's going on?"

"Listen to me," she says sternly, green eyes blazing. "We must get out of here."

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

The Elf opens her mouth to reply when the sharp blast of a horn cuts her off. I sit bolt upright just in time to catch a glimpse of several dark figures bustling past the archway. They are all armor-clad and bear silver long-bows.

"Rivendell is under attack?" I ask bleakly, looking up at my mother; there is fear in her eyes.

"Yes."

I hurriedly swing my legs over the side of the bed and allow the she-elf to hoist me to my feet.

"Orcs?"

Faelwen nods.

"How many of them?"

"Dozens," she replies gravely. "And they are no regular Orc, either. They are the black Uruk-Hai of Mordor."

Chills race down my spine as my mother continues.

"I fear that there is a much darker force at work here." Faelwen takes my hands in her own and tugs gently. "Come now. We must leave."

Something about the she-elf's demeanor makes me suspicious, and I narrow my eyes.

"What are you hiding, mother? Why is there guilt in your eyes?"

Faelwen gazes back at me before letting out a long sigh.

"There is something that I must tell you, Keira. Something I should have told you when you first arrived here. But right now we must go."

"Not until you tell me what you are hiding!" I raise my eyebrows, willing her to go on. "Please, Faelwen."

My mother hesitates reluctantly, but she must catch onto the intensity of my tone, for eventually she gives in.

"Let it be said that I would not tell you this under normal circumstances." The she-elf's grip tightens around my palms. "But if the Orcs were to breach our borders and claim me, I will not die with these words still in my mouth. You are… not the only child I bore."

My face registers betrayal and shock, and I take a step back until my calves are pressed against the bedframe.

"_What?" _I gasp.

"Many long years ago, there was another daughter bore to me. Her father was my first husband, Saeldur, a Wood-Elf. We were married for three hundred years before an Orc struck him down near Mirkwood's borders. My daughter was grief-stricken in the long months that followed his death and ultimately made the decision to live in the Woodland Realm." Faelwen's gaze softens, pain shining clear in her eyes. "Her name is Antiel."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" I demand angrily.

"Because I feared that too much knowledge of the matter would bring harm to you. Please, do not hold this against me."

_I have a half-sister that lives in Mirkwood. _

Faelwen opens her mouth but I push by her before she has the chance to speak.

"Keira, would you just…"

"NO!" I roar, turning around to face her. There is fire in my eyes and venom on my tongue. "You had your chance to tell the truth, but now I see that you have forsaken it. All you have ever done is deceive me."

"I didn't tell you because I was afraid how you would react!" The she-elf's green eyes are ablaze with worry and grief. "Having been reunited with me was one thing, but to be told that you had a sister? I was fearful that you could not handle it all."

"Do you really believe me to be that weak?" I ask, shocked . Faelwen reaches out to touch my arm.

"Keira, please understand. It was for you own good."

My vision reddens with rage as I stare at the hand outstretched towards me. Tears have begun to pool in my eyes, but I don't blink them away. Instead, I allow them to spill over my cheeks as I look up at my mother once more.

"I will never understand," I whisper brokenly before turning away from her and fleeing from the room.

* * *

I don't know exactly how I end up in the caves again. Perhaps it was destiny that brought me back into their dark clutches, or maybe a cruel twist of fate. Either way, when I finally become coherent enough to think straight, that is where I find myself to be.

My cheeks are wet with tears as I sit crumpled on the floor of the tunnel, my back propped against the wall. A lit torch rests on the ground beside me.

How could this happen... How? Why did Faelwen have to keep so many secrets? What sort of mother would keep her daughter from knowing about her own sibling?

"A very, very horrid one," I mumble to myself.

Suddenly, my ears pick up on a deep rumbling sound from somewhere within the caves. Fear grips at my heart as I recall the last time I ventured in here.

_That is the same noise I heard yesterday,_ I think, using my arms to push myself onto my feet. Head spinning, I find myself beginning to stumble forward through the dark tunnels of the cave. But, unlike the last time, I am alone now. Daeron and most of the other Elves are out fending off the Orcs that threaten to invade Rivendell, and Faelwen didn't dare follow after me. No doubt she could sense the rage coursing through my veins.

Now here I am, grief-stricken and terrified, as I venture deeper into the tunnel. The torch I hold clutched in my hand provides little light; though the flames are burning brightly, the blackness is simply too thick to penetrate. The feeling that something sinister lurks ahead has begun to cling to me as the condensation clings to the rock walls. And though my footsteps are soft and silent, I can't help but wonder if someone—or something—can hear them.

"Be brave," I whisper to myself. "What would Father do?"

A low growl emanates from somewhere up ahead, bouncing off of the walls before reaching my wary ears. My muscles tense up as the torch is abruptly snuffed out by a cold breeze snaking down the tunnel. A shudder trembles up my spine as I am left in total darkness.

Frustrated, I hurl the now useless torch into the cave wall. The mistake is evident as soon as the object collides with the stone. The noise of the impact echoes loudly in the relative quiet of the tunnel. The growling ceases abruptly.

_Idiot! _I scold myself.

The deep silence that follows is nerve-rackingly long. My heartbeat thunders, hammering in my ears.

Can he hear it, I wonder?

I force my legs to start moving forward once more as worry swirls around in my mind.

_He heard me. He knows I'm here. _

My arms are extended out on either side of my body, allowing my fingertips to brush against the stone walls of the tunnel. Touch is the only way I can navigate in the pitch black, though even that sense can sometimes deceive me. The walls are uneven in places, narrowing down the widening out the further I venture.

Minutes later, I can hardly stretch my arms out far enough to touch the stone. An irritated growl escapes my lips as I give up on my original tactic and resort to hugging close to the right wall. Relying on one wall alone is not at all logical, for if the tunnels were to branch out at some point, I would have no idea where I was going. _It's not like I know where I am going anyway._

Another deep growl echoes down the tunnel. This time, however, it is followed by a far more sinister sound. A howl, as sharp and cutting as the Elven blade I have tethered to my hip, slices its way through the tunnels. Fear strikes me in the heart, moving me to cower closer against the wall. He is close, now; surely his keen nose must have already picked up my familiar scent.

Then, suddenly, I feel it. The slight shift in the air that signifies I am no longer in the tunnels. An unpleasant rotting smell has begun to reach my nostrils, and I wrinkle my nose with distaste as I emerge into a dome-like room. The only way I am able to make out its shape is by the multiple cracks that line its tall ceiling. Thin rays of moonlight stream through them, illuminating the dust drifting off of the stone with my every footstep.

_This isn't the forge, _I think to myself before placing a hand on my forehead. _Excellent, now you're really lost. How can you become __lost_ _at a time like this? _

"Who goes there?"

The voice is as loud as thunder and weighs down on me as if it harbored some physical property. Chills race down to my fingertips, and I feel my body stiffen as I step out into the dark room.

I know the speaker of those words.

"You know who I am," I say strongly. "Do not pretend to be ignorant, _Carca."_

A deep silence follows my statement, followed by a grating noise that I soon realize to be laughter.

"Alas!" cries the beast. "Byron's daughter has chosen to venture into the dark. Tell me, do you regret your decision now?" I catch a glimpse of a dark shape moving through the shadows to my right, but it is gone before I can take a second glance. A small tingling sensation arises in the back of my neck as I feel the creature's eyes boring into me.

"Why are you here?" I hiss at him. "As far as I know, the Elves of Rivendell do not take prisoners often. Surely they must have good reason to bring you here."

"Bah! You think they brought me here?" Another flash of black fur, this time close enough that I can feel the small breeze from its movement. "Foolish girl; the Elves think that these puny chains can hold me, but I have deceived them of my true strength." A small rattling noise ensues; metal clanging against stone, I realize with a shudder. "I allowed them to capture me," he continues.

I smile at the lie in his voice.

"So you claim."

The wolf growls in reply to my snide comment. A faint glimmer of light appears in front of me as a ray of moonlight catches onto Carca's white fangs. One of his eyes comes into view for a brief second. It is menacing and predatory, its pupil formed into a thin slit as if it were a serpent's.

Perhaps that is all Carca is; a snake concealed in wolf skin.

"Are you scared, Keira?" Black saliva dribbles from his jowls as he speaks, but I refuse to give the monster the satisfaction of my fear.

"Not if I can help it."

Carca flashes me a glinting smile. "You should be. Not many dare venture into the dark recesses of the world, especially those of such..." He pauses briefly. "Fragility."

I clench my fists in anger and am prepared to shoot back a scathing comment when, suddenly, I have an epiphany. It is crazy and possibly insane, but I am out of options.

_Perhaps coming here wasn't such a bad idea after all._

"If you dare speak to me of my 'fragility', than the least you can do is grant me a small favor."

The wolf throws back his head and howls in laughter.

"_Me?_ Grant _you _a favor? What an idea!"

"I am serious, wolf."

Carca's laughter abruptly ceases. For a moment the creature is completely still before, slowly, his massive head angles downward to look at me. His golden eyes are narrowed suspiciously.

"If you are willing to ask for a favor, than allow me to request something of _you_." He steps closer, allowing the moonlight to fully illuminate his black face.

Carca's dark muzzle is blemished with countless scars, and the fur is thin and matted in places. A particularly vile looking wound decorates the flesh just above his right brow; blood stains the surrounding fur a violent maroon color. Red veins bulge out from the eye beneath the ghastly injury, signifying that it as well took damage from whatever attacked the wolf. The monster leans in close to my ear before shouting deafeningly, "_LEAVE!"_

His voice rattles the walls, stirring up more dust from the ceiling. He grinds his claws into the floor of the cave, leaving deep white abrasions in the otherwise smooth stone. I winch at the screeching sound it makes.

"Hear me out," I say. "I come to offer my help in exchange for yours. The Elves are preoccupied by an Orc attack. If we hurry, I can cut your bonds and free you without them realizing."

The beast's tall ears lay back flat against his head.

"And what is it that you ask for in return?"

"That you take me to the Woodland Realm."

Carca's thrusts his muzzle forward until our noses are nearly touching. His hot breath pants against my face, and I resist the impulse to gag. It smells of blood and death.

"And why," he begins. "would I be willing to do that?" I shoot him an annoyed look before glancing down at the chains encircling his neck.

"A favor for a favor," I say.

"Or so you think," the wolf chides. "What is there to stop me from tearing out your throat the moment you set me free?"

"Did I say I was finished?" Carca shoots me a curious look as I continue. "I have… acquaintances among the Wood-elves. After we arrive in Mirkwood, I will see to it that as long as you keep peace with the Elves, they will no longer strive to capture you." Pausing, I squint my eyes at the wolf. "Why _did _they capture you in the first place?"

"Grudges. Deep, age-old grudges. The Elves were not always on the best of terms with my kin."

_I wonder why?_

"The Elves will listen to me. As long as you prove to be nothing but my traveling companion, no further harm will come to you."

"What influence does a meager girl such as yourself have on the Wood-elves?"

Carca's words ring in my ears for a moment before I give a shaky reply.

"I saved the Elf Prince's life the last time I was in Mirkwood. He… I guess you could say that we are… friends."

"Friends? Ah, yes, _friends_ you say. That is how it always begins, I am told. Is he the reason why you wish to go back?"

My tongue feels like it has turned to lead in my mouth as I struggle to reply. Could it be that Antiel is not entirely the reason I want to go back? After all, she could be just as deceitful as my mother—possibly worse. Is it really Legolas that moves me to return to the Woodland Realm?

"No," I say uneasily. "But right now, it does not matter."

"Then who is it?" he inquires. "Surely there must be someone else, if not the Elf Prince, that moves you to return to that dark forest?"

"I recently discovered that I have a half-sister who lives in the Woodland Realm. She is who I need to find."

"A sister?" Carca drawls, eyes glittering savagely. "How very interesting. I assume it was your mother who told you this?"

"We may be bound by blood, but Faelwen will _never _be my mother."

The wolf says no more and draws back several steps. He then begins to pace slowly around me. The heavy chains coiled around his neck clatter noisily as he does so. My eyes follow the length of the metal links until they come to rest upon the massive metal pole anchoring the chain into the ground.

"I do not trust you, Keira," he says blandly, catching my observation.

"Nor I you" I reply, "but we are out of options. I can't stay here, and neither can you." I unsheathe the sword strapped against my belt, and Carca recoils with a snarl. I had found the weapon by coincidence several nights ago, while I was searching the drawers of the nightstand. It was the very sword I had snagged on my way out of the Palace in Mirkwood. When I questioned Daeron about it, he claimed that the Elves had put it in the nightstand for safekeeping, at least until I was well again.

I had managed to grab the sword shortly after my confrontation with Faelwen.

"Relax," I sooth the wolf. "I'm not planning to use this on you. The blade will be used only to cut your bonds, but only if you accept my offer."

A long pause stretches out between us as the wolf ponders the thought for a moment. My heart rate quickens with every second that goes by until, finally, Carca turns to look at me.

"I will do it," he says. "But we must leave now. Mirkwood is a long trek from here; nearly five days, not to mention if we come across Orcs." The wolf wrinkles his nose in distaste, and my fingers drum across the hilt of the blade.

_By the Valar, Faelwen had better not be lying about my sister, or I am about to make the biggest mistake of my life._

Raising the sword over my head, I force myself to brave the intense golden gaze of the wolf.

"Then let us be gone."

And with that I let the sword fall.

* * *

***insert suspenseful music here* Sorry to leave you all a bit on the edge, but what can I say? Un-resolved endings are kind of my thing ;) Welp, I hope everyone liked it! Thanks again to all who read, reviewed, favorited, and followed! It truly makes my day! Feel free to drop by some reviews, and have a great rest of the week!**

**- PC**


	11. Allied

**Here's Chapter 11! Enjoy!**

* * *

Howling and shrieking. That's the first thing I hear when I emerge from the mouth of the cave. The cold rays of the moon offer little means of light, even out in the open, and it takes everything within me not to tense up when I hear the growling emanating from within the dark tunnel.

"Wretched Orcs! The night breeze is poisoned by their insufferable stench!"

I look over my shoulder to see Carca's bold yellow eyes boring into me. His expression is contorted in disgust and anger. My stomach clenches in fear, but I force myself to remain calm.

_Relax, he's on your side. For now, at least._

"Wretched they may be, but such words will not bring halt to their siege of Rivendell." I begin to stride forth into the woods, ushering the wolf to follow me. "Come on, we need to move."

"Keira," Carca growls, his tone irritable, "our bargain stated nothing about you giving me orders. _I _will be the one telling _you _what to do. My eyes are keen in dark places; ride atop me, and we may yet escape without your clumsiness inhibiting us."

"_Ride _you?" I cry. "Why in the name of the Valar would I want to do that?"

"You want to move quickly, do you not?"

I nod stiffly.

"Good, then my plan should suit you well." The wolf steps up beside me, and I shoot him a nervous look. Carca returns my gaze, his eyes filled with a fierce intensity unmatched in the animal world. Sighing reluctantly, I brace my arms on the creature's massive shoulder before swinging one of my legs over his back. His thick black fur is coarse beneath my fingertips as I place my hands on either side of his muscled neck.

"Let us go, then," I mutter reluctantly. "And do be careful. I am not used to riding wolves."

Carca grins in amusement.

"As you wish, daughter of Byron."

And with that he bounds forward into darkness.

* * *

My eyelashes flutter open, damp with morning dew, as Carca's rumbling snores vibrate the ground beneath me. The lonesome cry of a coyote sounds from the forests below the cliff, followed by the sing-song call of a dove. Their voices join in a beautiful chorus; one creature fare-welling the night, the other welcoming the new day that is to come.

Muscles aching, I let out a low moan before rolling onto my side. My tired eyes manage to swim into focus enough to see that the sun has begun to dawn over the Misty Mountains. Its early rays seem to brandish the snow-capped peaks into solid gold. A smile whispers across my lips, for the yellow star has dawned light upon the first day of our journey.

Alas, though it may have felt like an eternity, Carca and I had only been traveling for a couple of hours before the wolf decided that it would be best for us to stop and rest. He was tireless in his trek despite my being atop him, and I can't help but wonder if the creature stopped for my sake alone. Maybe his senses had picked up on the fact that my wounds have not yet fully healed. That I am still weak from the poison that had once flowed through my veins. Either way, Carca had managed to find a safe outcropping in the cliffside along which we were traveling, where we had then rested for the remainder of the night. But now, as I roll back over to face the wolf, I find myself wishing that Carca could have picked a better place.

The tiny cave is barely large enough to fit us both; even now I can hardly move without brushing against one of the wolf's gangly limbs. His hot breaths stir up the pieces of hair straying into my face as I tilt my head over to look at him. Surprisingly, I find myself admiring how peaceful he looks while asleep. Though his face still remains mangled and scarred, it is no longer filled with worry and malice. Much more serene thoughts seem to have taken over him. Perhaps he is dreaming of his own race, back when times were not so dark.

Back when he was not the only black wolf left to walk the face of the earth.

_What must it be like for you? _I ponder thoughtfully, _to keep living when there is nothing left to drive you on?_

One of the wolf's ears twitches, as if somehow detecting my thoughts, before his eyelids raise up. Two golden eyes stare somewhat sleepily back at me before blinking twice.

"Dawn has risen," Carca says in a voice so deep that it vibrates the ground on which we lay. "We must be moving on; we cannot afford to give the Elves time to track us."

I give a noisy yawn in reply before leaning up into a sitting position. My legs feel as stiff as cardboard, so I take a moment to stretch them out. My joints pop and crack as I do so, and Carca shakes cave dust from his fur.

"So, how much farther will it be to Mirkwood?"

"A four day journey," says Carca, "if we are not delayed." The wolf swings his massive head to look at me. "Listen to me now; our bargain was that if I took you to the realm of the Wood-elves, you in turn would promise me my freedom. I can promise you that I can take you there, but if I said that our travels would be easy, it would be a lie. The land in which we have strayed is filled to the brim with Orcs and my rather unpleasant relatives, the Wargs. Be on your guard at all times, and do not rely on me alone to protect you from danger."

"Why would I?" I retort. "I am not something to be protected, Carca. It was simply by coincidence that we met at all. If not for that, I wouldn't have requested your assistance in the first place."

"And you would have provided the Orcs with a very nice bit of breakfast to start off their day."

I shoot Carca a scathing glare before getting to my feet and striding out of the cave entrance. The sun's glare blinds me for a moment, and I raise up a hand to shield my eyes. Once they adjust, I am left to gape at the sight before me.

The cliff face on which I stand overlooks a vast stretch of familiar grassland. The Brown Lands, I realize with a wistful sigh. I will never understand why they are called that, for they are not brown, but instead a glorious sea of gold. Its grassy waves mesmerize me for a moment as I think back to the days I spent living among them. Hunting game, drinking from crystal-clear brooks, basking in the sunlight. The very air of the place seems to clear my mind.

_Why are you doing this, Keira? Why are you going after Antiel? She probably doesn't even know that you exist. Would it be so wrong to just go home?_

_No_, I decide finally, _it wouldn't be wrong. Carca would likely be abiding to the change of plans, despite our bargain. After all, it's not like the wolf _enjoys_ being in my company. I wouldn't, either. It's a miracle in itself that Legolas was able to put up with me for as long as he did._

"Admiring the view?

Carca's loud voice startles me from my thoughts, and I turn to see him standing beside me. His amber eyes match the color of the land below us.

"Yes," I reply somewhat breathlessly. "I used to live here, you know. Before I ended up in Mirkwood. It acted as my home after the destruction of Brunsfarrow."

"Why did you choose to come here?"

I shrug in reply and cross my arms over my chest. The silken fabric of my Elven attire is thin yet surprisingly warm. The cold mountain air has yet to chill me. It must be inlaid with a magic of some sort, for how else could it not already be torn?

"Come now," I hear Carca chide. "I know there is more to the story than that. If I am to be traveling with you for some time, than the least you could do is give me some insight into your past."

"Why would I want to tell you anything? We were, after all, enemies at one time or another."

"Enemies? No, we were never enemies." The wolf's ears lay back flat against his head as he gazes longingly out at the plains. "You were but a child when the famine spread throughout the forests. My family was starved of prey, as the deer that once roamed the woodlands had all but died out from lack of food. We were all driven half-mad by hunger." Carca closes his eyes, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. "The feeling of emptiness is something that I never wish to experience again."

"Nor do I. Though Brunsfarrow may have appeared plentiful, the nobles hoarded most of the goods themselves. The common folk had little to eat."

We both sit in a thoughtful silence before the black wolf speaks once more.

"Why did the Elves behave so strangely around you?"

His question takes me aback, and I turn to look at him.

"What do you know about their behavior?" I snap, my tone harsher than I meant. "You spent all your time cooped up in a cave."

"When their patrol brought me into the city, I saw that you were not being held in one of the guest homes, but the healing house instead. They acted as if you were something to be protected, for the healing house is thought to be the most well-guarded place in Rivendell." Carca seems to catch onto the strange look I give him and continues. "Why were you brought to Imladris in the first place?"

"I was poisoned by an Orc blade back in Mirkwood. The healing power of Lord Elrond was the only thing that could save me."

"Really?"

"Really."

My bland comment seems to satisfy the wolf, for the time being, at least. He turns briskly from me before beginning to stride back down the trail.

"Follow me; the trail before us is a long one, and it is best if we start on it now."

Lightning cracks across the sky, splintering shards of white light down onto the land below. The downpour of rain inhibits me from seeing more than a few feet in front of me, and even Carca appears to be struggling. The thin mountainous ledge upon which we walk is dangerously slippery. I had requested to ride the wolf at one point, but he had told me off, claiming that our combined weight might bring down the mountain pass altogether.

"Carca!" I shout, my voice barely audible. A flash of light signifies the coming of another loud crash of sound, and I wince at its strength. "How much farther till we get off this mountain? I can't see anything!"

"Nor can I," the wolf replies loudly. "And I do not know. The rain makes it near impossible for my eyes to see what lies-" Suddenly, Carca lets out a sharp yowl, and I watch with wide eyes as a massive boulder careens down from the cliff and tumbles into the pathway in front of him. The wolf attempts to dodge it, but fails, and I watch in horror as his black form is drug down with the rock as it spills off of the mountain side.

"Carca? _Carca!_"

For a long moment there is no reply. My heart pounds as I struggle to see through the torrent of water.

_Is he dead? _

"Keira, get down!"

I heed Carca's words just as another boulder crashes down from the cliff, narrowly missing taking my head with it. Eyes wide, I force my trembling legs to take several shaky steps forward until I am standing at the edge of the pathway.

"Carca, where are you?" I call out, glancing around anxiously. An irritated growl sounds from beneath me. Confused, I look down and start slightly. Carca's soggy form is clinging to the lip of rock below me, his features strained with exertion. I let out a small bleak of surprise before crouching down.

"H-hold on; I'll get you up!" My shaking hands grab hold of the wolf's wet paws, and I heave backwards in an attempt to pull him back onto the pathway. The rain makes it difficult to get a foothold as I struggle to bear Carca's weight, but I manage nonetheless. The wolf grunts with effort before giving a sharp kick with his back legs. The momentum he gains is enough to launch him back onto the outcropping. I roll to the side just in time to avoid being crushed by his bulky form.

"Please… don't do that… again," I pant, wiping damp strings of hair from my forehead.

"I don't plan on it!" Carca bites back before stumbling to his feet. He then turns his gaze out to the enormous gap separating us from the rest of the pathway.

"We're going to have to jump," the black wolf says with a huff.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

"Enough, Keira! If you wish to make it to Mirkwood, than the only way to do so is to bridge the gap by jumping." Carca's eyes shine with a deadly seriousness, and I shudder.

"You first," I growl.

Carca's ears lay flat in annoyance, but he abides nonetheless. He crouches down and gives a massive leap forward. His sleek body streamlines through the air before making a rough landing on the path opposite me. The wolf's head impacts the rock with a sickening crunch as he tumbles forward. He seems not to notice it, however, as he turns round to look at me.

"Well? Jump!"

Grumbling, I jog back several steps before taking a deep breath and sprinting forward. When I am about to reach the edge, I swing my arms back before careening over the ravine. After a terrifying few seconds of air time, my feet collide painfully with the rocky ground. The shaky landing causes me to become unbalanced, and Carca barely manages to snag hold of my shirt before I tip over the side of the cliff. I eye the wolf gratefully before regaining my footing and wringing out my drenched outfit.

"That was interesting," I comment blandly.

"Quite."

And with that we continue on.

**Two days later**

_Blood is everywhere. It adorns the ground with red blossoms and paints the bodies of the fallen. So many are dead now. Elves, all of them; even in death their beauty is unmatched._

_My breath comes out in ragged pants as I stumble out into the clearing. Heart pounding, I bend down and begin to turn over each of the bodies._

_Where is he? Where he is?_

"_Prince?" I call raggedly. "Prince, I'm here." A low moan sounds from somewhere to my right, and I look over to see the body of Legolas lying motionless on the frozen ground. He is rolled onto his side, and I can see even from a distance that there is blood splattered onto his armor. His blue eyes are clouded over with pain as our gazes meet._

"_Legolas!" I cry, nearly tripping over several bodies to get to him. His body lies near the center of the clearing, and I am by his side within seconds. A cry of anguish escapes my lips before I crumple to the ground beside his body. A grotesque sword wound cuts across the Elf's torso, staining his tunic red with blood. My fingers run soothingly through his hair as I take his face in my hands, tears streaming down my cheeks._

"_Stay with me," I plead. "Please, just stay awake. You'll make it through this."_

"_Why?" the Elf chokes out. "Why did you…come back?"_

"_Because… because…" The Prince's body convulses suddenly, and I cradle his head in my lap. Blood seeps out of the corner of his lips as I rock back in forth, sobbing feverently. "Legolas, it's because I-"_

_I feel it. I feel it when he dies. When his last breath fades away onto my cheek. It is warm and smells of mint. A broken wail rises up in my throat as I fall upon the Elf's body, my tears mixing with his blood._

_He was gone before I had a chance to finish._

I awake with tears in my eyes and his name on my lips.

"Legolas." The thin moan sounds hollow as I gaze up into the midnight sky, pondering over the nightmare. It is the third one that I have had of him. Could it mean something? A bad omen, perhaps?

"Everything alright?"

Carca's tone isn't overly concerned, but I feel obliged to respond nonetheless.

"Yes, yes everything is quite fine." My fingers dig into the damp soil beneath my fingers as I push myself into a sitting position. "Just a nightmare."

"Only one?" the wolf questions. "I can hardly believe that. Judging by your squawking, I would've guessed that there were two or three dark dreams haunting your thoughts."

"It was so vivid," I say, ignoring Carca's comment. "My dreams have been getting stronger, lately. More realistic."

"I fear that they will only get worse the further you stray from Rivendell. The Elves' magic likely put your mind to peace while you stayed amongst them. Your mixed blood would enable you to be strongly affected by the calming nature of the place." I look over my shoulder in order to give the wolf an irritated look. "What?" he says innocently, "we both know that it's true!"

"Maybe, but that does not give you the right to talk about it so freely."

Carca shakes his head, tossing his mane of black fur, before letting out a long sigh.

"I still do not know why you insisted upon being taken to Mirkwood so urgently. If you wanted to visit your sister so badly, why not ask the elves themselves? For all you know, they might have agreed to take you there." My gaze turns down to the ground, and I clasp my hands in my lap. Carca's right. He had a reason to want to escape, but me? Why should I? The Elves were perfectly kind to me, if not the most welcoming to my mixed blood. Surprising, given that Lord Elrond's kin are also half-elven. What makes me so different, I wonder?

"The Elves were not overly welcoming to me being a half-elf," I say meekly. "I don't know exactly why, only that I was afraid of what they might say if I were to request such a thing."

"It is not so strange if you consider the past." Carca's tone is anything but sympathetic as he continues. "Back when Elrond was younger, humans were said to be the noble sort. His snideness towards other half-elves started back when Isildur refused to cast the ring into Mount Doom. After seeing the greed of men first hand, Elrond never fully regained his admiration for the race of men. To him, each and every one of them is as corrupted as Isildur. When he first gained knowledge that your father was in love with one of his kin…" The wolf trails off. "Let's just say that he didn't approve of the match. And to have the product of their affections waltz straight into his home was not the most ideal, either."

"I didn't have a choice," I say. "The Wood-elves brought me there. I didn't 'waltz' into Imladris."

"To the elves, it did not matter," Carca snaps back severely. "Though they may be wise beyond even my knowledge, the elves are easily succumbed to their status. To have their relativly 'pure' race spoiled by a lowly half-elf is extremely irritating to them."

_Spoiled. What a nice way to put it._

Aggravated, I turn away from him before slumping back onto the ground. The damp mountain air clings to my skin like sticky sap, and I shiver slightly as a frigid draft snakes down into the valley in which we lay. It chills me to the bone, and my teeth chatter noisily as I attempt to get some rest.

"Who is Legolas?"

I jump slightly, all hopes of sleeping gone as Carca's abrupt question rings in my ears.

"What?" I ask, rolling over to face him. The wolf is resting his head on his paws, eyes closed.

"I said, who is Legolas?"

"Legolas?" I feel chills of dread begin to creep up my spine. "He's, um… he's an elf—a prince, to be specific—that lives in Mirkwood. Why?"

One of Carca's eyes opens into a thin slit. "You were calling for him while you slept." My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and the wolf chuckles.

"So, it is as I suspected. You _do _have feelings for him."

"Who said that I do?" I retort sharply.

"You were weeping bitterly while you wailed his name." Carca lifts up his head and opens both of his eyes. "Your nightmare no doubt involved him."

"So?"

"Why would one have such dark dreams of a person that they do not care about?"

I let out a heavy breath before propping myself up on one elbow.

"Fine," I say, "maybe I do care about him, or maybe I don't. But either way, since when has that become so important to you?"

"No reason," the wolf replies. "Curiosity will occasionally get the best of me."

_Is that all, Carca? _I think, squinting suspiciously at him. _Is there no more you will tell me?_

"Sleep now," he says in a gravelly voice. "You need your rest for the journey ahead." Reluctantly, I lay my head back down and try not to think about Carca's strange but sudden curiosity. Instead, I find myself concentrating on my own heart-beat. Willing it to lull me to sleep.

_Drum, thrum. Drum, thrum._

Just when sleep is about to take me, I hear something. An irregular pulse, different from the rhythmic beats of my heart. It vibrates the ground beneath me, stirring up clouds of dust. Frowning, I roll back onto my side and press my ear against the earth.

_Boom boom, boom boom_

"Carca," I hiss out. When no response comes, I say louder, "Carca!"

"What is it?" he replies sleepily.

"Do you hear that?"

The wolf is silent for a moment, and I glance over to see that he also has his ear pressed against the ground. His eyes are pinched closed in concentration.

"Something is coming," he says finally, rising up onto his feet. "We need to move."

"Do you know what it is?" I ask. My legs wobble beneath me as I stagger over to the wolf.

"Orcs, and a large group of them, no doubt. They march in unison."

My hands shake as I sling one leg over Carca's back. After situating myself atop him, the wolf lurches forward into a brisk trot.

"Mirkwood is not far now," he says curtly. "If we move quickly, we have hope of reaching it before the orcs catch up to us."

"Wait… you think that the orcs are coming after us?"

"Why else would they be awake at such an unearthly hour? They must've caught a whiff of us downwind. Orcs are not quick to pass up on an unsuspecting meal."

"Then, by all means, let us be gone!"

Carca gives a nod of agreement, and in a matter of seconds we have disappeared into the night.

"Hellfire! They're gaining on us!"

Carca glances up at me, and I feel the fur along his spine bristle in agitation. A beastly shriek sounding from somewhere behind us signals that the first of the orcs has crested the hilltop.

"Carca!" I screech. "Faster!"

"Enough!" the wolf roars in response. "If I go much faster, I will be flying. My legs can only carry me so far."

"Then grow wings, if that is what it takes! There are too many to fight, not to mention their… oh, curse it all, they have wargs!"

"_Wargs?"_

A loud howl echoes to my right, and I look over to see one of the wolves sprinting up beside Carca. Its murky yellow fangs are bared with menace. I glare at the creature before unsheathing my sword. The silver blade makes a low hissing sound as it slides out of the scabbard, and the warg snarls.

"Come closer," I say, then add with a smirk, "if you dare." The warg obliges readily as it lunges for me. I duck down as the creature sails over my head before raising up my arm and plunging the sword deep into its chest. The animal lets out a brutal wail before colliding head first into the ground in front of us. Carca leaps up just in time to avoid tripping over the newly acquired obstacle.

"How much father until we reach Mirkwood?" I ask, grimacing as black warg blood trickles down onto the hilt of my sword.

"We are close now," Carca pants. "Only another mile or so."

He is right. The grey outline of the forest is clear on the dawning horizon. An open stretch of grassland is the only thing separating us from the sanctuary of the trees.

"If we hurry, we might be able to lose them in the foliage!"

"I wouldn't count on it," says the wolf. "Orcs are not deterred by simple obstacles. It would take much more than that to ward them off. Our only hope is that your little friends the Wood-elves are somewhere nearby."

_I wouldn't count on that, either, _I think irritably.

"Runnin's pointless!" I hear one of the orc's bark out. "We'll catch ya!" An arrow whizzes past my ear, and I look over my shoulder to see that two of the beasts have pulled out their short bows. I curse loudly before flattening out on the wolf's back, praying that an arrow doesn't find residence in my spinal cord. Carca seems to sense the danger as well and quickens his pace. The distance between us and Mirkwood has shrunk considerably, and I feel my heart rise into my throat as the looming trees cast shadows over us.

"Hold on!" Carca cries before surging forward powerfully. The extra thrust sends us rocketing out of the grassland and into the confines of the forest.

No sooner have we crossed the border than the orc pack plunges in after us. Their squeals and screams rattle my eardrums as Carca weaves in and out of the trees. The wolf's chest has begun to heave even harder as he struggles to retain his fast pace over the treacherous terrain. Much to my relief, the wargs that were once pursuing us seem to have given up the chase, having sensed the dangers that lie ahead. If only their stubborn masters would take the hint.

Another arrow speeds past me, closer this time. Its barbed tip slices a thin cut across my cheek, and I can't help but wish that I myself had a bow. Not that it would do much good, given my wretched aim.

"Are you really going to let them do this to us?" I cry, anger rising up within me. "Let them hunt us like prey? You're better than this, Carca. Now turn around and fight!"

"You said it yourself; there are too many of them."

"Since when have numbers daunted you? You invaded Brunsfarrow, did you not? Did numbers matter so much then?"

At first it seems that my words have fallen on deaf ears. Carca says nothing as he weaves in and out of the trees before letting out a grudging sigh. He sticks his front legs out and digs his paws into the ground, causing him to skid to an abrupt halt.

"Curse your stubborn hide," he grumbles. "Take arms, Keira, for blood is about to be shed." The wolf's yellow eyes blaze with fury as he turns around to face the orcs.

"No problem there," I say, clutching my sword tightly in one hand. Then, just as the first orc emerges from the foliage, Carca lunges. The wrinkled beast lets out a squeal of surprise before being decapitated with a swift cleave of my sword. Carca tosses aside its twitching corpse before starring down the rest of the pack. The orcs seem momentarily dazed, having just witnessed the grisly death of their companion, but they quickly regain their bearings enough to form a defensive line.

"Take them out first," I say, gesturing to the orc archers that have begun to emerge from the shadows. The black wolf nods his agreement as he paws anxiously at the ground. Steely swords glint in the sunlight as the orcs unsheathe their weapons, preparing for the coming onslaught. Carca's hackles rise up as his muscles tense, prepared to spring…

A volley of arrows suddenly explodes from the treetops, felling all but five of the Orcs in one clean sweep. The creatures panic, their gazes turning upward, before one of them howls out an alarm. It is silenced, however, by an arrow to the throat. It's comrades watch in numb horror as the beast writhes for a moment before crumpling to its knees and going still. The silence that follows is shattered abruptly with squeals of panic and the orcs turn on heel and flee into the forest. It is not long before their black forms have melted into the shadows of dawn.

"Well, that was… unexpected," I say, glancing warily up at the trees.

"It seems as though your little friends have found us, after all."

As if to second Carca's statement, the leaves rustle above our heads, and five elves skid down the smooth tree trunks before dropping to the ground front of us. Their bows are tightly strung, the arrow tips pointing directly at the wolf's face. Carca growls contemptuously.

"Relax," I whisper to him. "They won't shoot unless they find us to be a direct threat."

"If you are to speak, than speak loud enough for us all to hear!" demands one of the Elves. He is not one familiar to me, but his beauty is no less exquisite. His pale features are framed by imposing brows and intense amber eyes that are bright with distrust.

"We bring you no ill-will," I say calmly, sheathing my sword. "You may have heard of me before; my name is Keira. I stayed in the Woodland-Realm for quite some time after I was injured by Orcs."

The blonde elf squints doubtfully at me before gesturing to Carca.

"And who is the one who bears you?"

"His name is Carca. He is the last of the black wolves and has been my companion for many days." My words seem to have an effect on the elves, as they reluctantly lower their bows.

"I have heard your name before," he tells me. "You were the one the Prince had sent to Imladris, are you not?"

"I am," I reply somewhat guiltily, "and I am grateful for that, for Rivendell has helped me uncover many secrets. One of which is that I have a half-sister that lives among you. I wish to see her, if you don't mind." The elf frowns.

"Do you mean to say that your sister is an elf?"

"Yes."

He blinks at me for a moment before speaking in a much sterner tone.

"Very well. It seems that I have no other choice than to believe you… for now. I will abide to take you to the Woodland Realm, but the wolf shall be left here."

I cast a glance at Carca before grudgingly sliding down from his back. Though I still do not have full trust in the wolf, I can't help but feel safer when I am atop him.

"Can I request something of you?" I ask the elf. Without waiting for an answer, I continue. "Promise me that you will not try to capture him? Carca has been through enough torment from the Rivendell elves." The blonde elf raises an elegant eyebrow before giving a curt nod.

"As long as he does not infiltrate our borders again, I will see to it that no harm will come to him, be it by the elves doing." I give him a grateful smile before turning to the wolf.

"I guess this is goodbye."

"It is," he says simply. His yellow eyes observe me for a moment as I fumble for something to say.

"Well… thank you for taking me here, and may the path that lies before you lead to a brighter future than what has come to pass."

"You were true to your word, and for that I am grateful." Carca dips his head to me. "Farewell, Keira, and may the stars shine brightly for you."

"Farewell, Carca," I say, and then he is gone. Like a dark wind the wolf furls throughout the trees before disappearing into the forest. With a heavy heart, I turn to look at the elves standing before me.

"Shall we go, then?"

The elves nod their agreement, and I smile gratefully. In my mind, however, I am praying that the Elven King is in a lenient mood. Will he let me see my sister, or will his stubbornness and pride be both of our downfalls?

Nevertheless, I force myself to look to the path ahead as the elves lead me deep within the dark clutches of Mirkwood.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! :D Hope you guys liked the new chapter! As always, feel free to review... hearing from you guys really makes my day! **

**-PC**


End file.
